Tales of the Lovecraft Mythos

by Robert M. Price

  I was taken in and my wounds were ministered to; for all are welcomed and none are questioned who manage to reach there.

  So it was, that in the quietude of my temporary quarters in that deep-hidden city, I dared finally to delve into the secret linings of my clothes and bring out those pages which Kathulhn had written before doom descended upon him. Arranging them in their sequence, I saw that Kathulhn had been allowed to finish his treatise. And somehow this fact was more profoundly disturbing than if he had been suddenly cut off before he could finish.

  Tremulously I began to read, and was immediately absorbed. But before long I encountered Kathulhn’s first few hints of the cosmic horrors to be revealed, and I began to waver. I read on . . . a few more pages . . . I became appalled and frightened.... I lost heart then, would have ceased reading, would have destroyed those pages for all time—but found to my unutterable horror that I could not! A will that was not my own compelled me to read on . . . all things around me ceased to exist . . . I was no longer bound to Vhoorl but was drawn, sensually if not bodily, into the very midst of those mad pages....

  Far into the night and into the morning hours, mind reeling, soul recoiling, I perused those all-revealing pages which moved relentlessly but surely toward a final, culminating immensity which froze my brain.

  A sullen dawn was looming when I finished that terrible treatise and screamed curses upon all the gods that were—for then I knew! Fool, fool that I was! Fool to have thought that the tiny globe of Vhoorl or the entire cosmic sphere itself could contain any place of hiding from Them! Fool not to have destroyed those pages utterly, unread! But it was too late; the eternal dirge of all mankind: “Too late!” I had succumbed to that deadly and avaricious arch-enemy, curiosity. I had read, and was utterly and damnably doomed!

  And now, as if in answer to my imprecations there came a mocking chuckle of amusement as if from far away, and then nearer, riding down the star wind, faint and clear . . . a peculiar sibilance and a shifting as if every individual atom in the planet of Vhoorl had been deviated infinitesimally from its path . . . intense cold . . . a kind of livid glare that burst suddenly, filling all the room about me . . . and then——

  I think I tried to shriek, but each succeeding attempt rose to a certain point in my throat and stopped. How can I convey the soul-shattering horror of that moment when, from the nothingness before me, there emerged a thing, a sort of shapeless, writhing mass, greenish and fluorescent, tangible and sentient—indescribable because it was constantly changing, fading away at the edges as if it were but a projection reaching through from some other space or dimension. In that moment I remembered those words Kathulhn had said to me: “Because I know, Tlaviir, that They can reach in!” In that moment I knew what manner of thing confronted me . . . knew that this was the “shape” that had descended upon the city of Bhuulm those many months ago, to blast all intelligence....

  I knew that I must shriek to save my mind; tried again and again but could not; and then as I closed my eyes against the blinding brilliance of it and felt my mind slipping slowly away, there seemed to emanate from the thing a radiance to touch my brain with a soothing coolness. The first icy wave of horror passed over me and left me calm with that utter impassivity born of hopelessness.

  So it was that there in the cold dawn of that nameless city I listened to the pronouncement of the doom that was to be mine.

  I say “listened,” but there was no sound. The thing was polychromatic, with an interplay of colors many of which I was certain were alien to this universe. And with every scintillating change of color, thought was sent pulsing into my brain.

  The fate reserved for me [the thing scintillated] was not to be as Kathulhn’s, nor as those other unfortunates’ back in the city of Bhuulm; for I was the very keynote upon which They based their jest. Not until the person whom I knew as Kathulhn had found the way Out There, had They ever so much as suspected the existence of such animalia on the tiny spheres. Observing closely, then, They discovered that many of the spheres abounded with such creatures, and They were amused at the colossal impudence of this one. Probing Kathulhn’s mind, They discovered that it was his inherent curiosity which had made him seek for the answers to galactic secrets and finally to find the way Out There. This phenomenon of curiosity,or aspiration , They discovered, was a universally inherent quality of these animalia. Furthermore, it was a quality of good to which They, being forces of pure evil, were opposed.

  Then it was that They conceived their jest.

  They thrust Kathulhn back upon Vhoorl with that dire warning which he had almost whispered to me. To Them, who were timeless and therefore omnipresent, the phenomena which Kathulhn knew as “past” and “future” were as one.

  They had foreseen that Kathulhn would not heed that warning!

  And [the thing went on] knowing well the fate that had been his, I had had every opportunity to destroy those pages he had written. But it was foreseen, indeed fore-ordained, that I should read! And now those pages would never be destroyed. I would bind them well, into a book that would be imperishable all through the ages, and upon that book They would cast a curse to await any who dared to peruse it. And as a stimulant to this gigantic scheme of the Outer Ones, conceived by Them for Their own amusement, I must preface the Book with a warning to all mankinds. Then let him disregard the warning who dared. Reading on, there could be no turning back; he would be compelled to read on to the end, and upon him would devolve the curse. Only when such a one had dared, would I be free.

  As to the curse [the thing continued] and my immediate fate, he was undetermined. Perhaps he would take me out There. Such things as aspiration and emotion and mind in connection with the tiny motes They had newly discovered on the spheres, had aroused a transient interest, and experiments would be entertaining.

  Such diabolism only those Entities could conceive. The thing has gone now, as I, Tlaviir, conclude this preface of warning; but I feel that I have written these words under a pervading surveillance. From infinitely far away, now, I seem to hear unleashed shouts of glee . . . or is that only my imagination? But no: very close to my ear now, as I write these final words, comes that penetrant and portentous chuckle which I know is not imagination, to remind me that this which I write, everything, all, is but a part of Their preconceived plan.

  3

  The book lay there, opened wide, flat on the table before me. Thus had the Preface ended, on the left-hand page; the page opposite it was blank—and there were many pages following.

  For a long time I sat there in the absolute stillness of the room, pondering, full of amazement at what I had just read, wondering what evil secrets might be revealed in those following pages. Even the things hinted at in the Preface were suggestive enough. I recalled with a start how anxious that tiny slate-colored man had been for me to read the Book—and I wondered if, indeed, the curse would be transferred to me if I dared to turn the page and read on.

  Abruptly I came to my senses, with a little laugh. “Nonsense!” I said aloud to the room; “what am I thinking of? Such things as that can’t be!”

  My hand reached out to turn the page....

  The log in the fireplace snapped sharply. I arose to replenish the fire, noticing as I did so that the clock on the mantel said twenty minutes until midnight. For the first time I was aware of the chill that had crept into the room.

  As I turned from my task I saw that tiny man of the bookstore standing very quietly there beside the table.

  Now by all rules of propriety I should have been shocked or astonished or scared—later I wondered why I hadn’t been; but right then I wasn’t any of those things. I should at least have done him the courtesy of inquiring how he had learned my address, or how he had managed to enter my room, the very solid door of which I had most decidedlylocked!...butrightthenasIturned and faced him I only seemed to think how very appropriate this all was . . . that he should be there, so very opportunely . . . there were several of the most deucedly puzzling po
ints about the Book that I should like to clear up. Oh, I knew of course that all this was nothing but a dream, knew that that was why it was so illogical!

  The little man spoke first, in answer, as it were, to the very first question I had been about to propound.

  “No, I am not that Tlaviir whose warning you have just read,” he said with a monotony that suggested an infinite weariness of repetition. “The fact is, we may never know how many eons ago this diabolic thing began; that very part of the cosmos where the Book had its origin may long since have passed into oblivion. But, for all of that, neither am I of your world. It was ages ago on my own planet, the very location of which I have long forgotten, that the Book came to me in much the same way it has come to you—brought to me by a queer person not of my own planet, who had traversed the ages and the outer spaces with the Book. I was an avid student of the vaguely hinted-at, premundane creatures supposed to have inhabited my world before it swam into light out of the darkness. Just as you have read, so did I read—eagerly. And just as you now doubt—appalled at the thought of the immensity that might be—so did I doubt. As you now hesitate before the Book—so did I hesitate. But in the end——”

  I gestured impatiently at the thought he was trying to suggest to me. Whatever kind of hoax this was, it was silly. True, I had always been an imaginative person, my library consisting of the weirdest literature ever written, but always deep in my mind was the safe and comfortable knowledge that it was literature and nothing more. But now—to ask me to believe that upon this Book had been placed a curse, to be transferred to him who read . . . that it had come here through space and through the ages from some alien planet . . . brought here by this man who claimed he was not of this world—that was too much. It was much too much. That is the stuff of which fiction is made.

  So thinking, I once more reached out toward the Book. But—thank God!—my hand recoiled in horror as those queer, writhing symbols upon the open page met my eye with a significance that jerked my mind back to a semblance of reason: for I saw that those symbols were not, could not be, of this Earth!

  I felt myself suddenly trembling as all my assurance vanished in an instant—trembling as my taut mind suddenly sensed things lurking, out of sight and sound, but very near....

  The tiny man had watched my movements with an intense expectancy and eagerness, and as my hand recoiled his whole being bespoke disappointment and temporary defeat. But this was only for an instant, and then he, too, seemed to sense some invisible presence close at hand—stood poised, very still, head erect as if listening to something that I could not hear, something I was not meant to hear. For just a moment he stood thus before he spoke again; and now his voice, as he went on, was weary once more and sad:

  “Yes, you had persisted in believing that all of this was some kind of hoax—but now, even as all the others, you know differently. You delight in delving into the weird and terrible, and I had hoped that you would be the one....Butit has always been thus.

  “On the outermost planet of your system, that which you call Pluto, I encountered a denizen who, like yourself, was intensely interested in the ancient and dreadful superstitions of his planet. He also read the Preface that you have just read; he, too, wavered with that dread uncertainty, but his courage failed him and he fled from me and the Book as he would have fled from a plague, and so I knew that once again I had failed in this grotesquerie, that not yet was I to be free from the curse. But it has been so long, and nowhere can I escape those tortures of mind and soul which They inflict upon me at their will! For it is from Them that I derive the immunity to the terrors of outer space, and that hitherto unsuspected Power of darkness which transcends by far the power of light, by which I am enabled to traverse the space between planets and between galaxies. But no single moment, no single thought of my own!

  “You cannot know the horror of that! Sometimes in the middle of night They project a blasphemous Shape upon me, whose toothless mouth opens and closes in an obscene, soundless sound, who sits on my chest to perform a grotesque rite during which my very identity is lost in the churning of chaotic confusion and my mind reels out amidst the booming monody of the stars, on out into that boundless abyss beyond the outermost curved rim of cosmic space, where They dwell in contemplation of a monstrous catastrophe to the cosmos; nay, it is more than a contemplation, the thing has begun, is being done now, and out There I have assisted in this thing, the very immensity of which would drive one mad who knew. I would welcome madness, but They will not even let me go mad!”

  His voice, ordinarily thin and shrill, had reached a penetrating shriek.

  “But,” I said at last in a sort of triumph, “if you are so anxious for me to read this Book, these very things you tell me defeat your purpose—if this whole crazy thing is not a dream, which I believe it is!”

  He almost reeled as he put his hand to his head. “That is because you do not know the malign cunning of Them who conceived this plot. My very thoughts, the words I speak, come from Them! I am Theirs!”

  An almost imperceptible pause during which he again seemed to listen to that which I could not hear, and he continued:

  “. . . but consider well . . . the Book reveals secrets which can be yours . . . knowledge of which you have scarcely dared to dream . . . why, you have not even thought to connect that ‘Kathulhn’ mentioned in the Preface with that tentacled and ever-damned Kthulhu reputed to have come to Earth eons ago by way of the planet Saturn to which it had previously fled from depths beyond your solar system . . . you can know whence obscure and loathsome Tsathoqquah came, and why . . . and other obscenities of subhuman legend hinted at in your Necronomicon and other forbidden books: N’hyarlothatep, and Hastur, and the abominable Mi-Go; frightful and omniscient Yok-Zothoth, ponderous and proboscidian Chaugnar Faugn, and Beh’-Moth the Devourer . . . you will converse with the Whisperer in Darkness . . . you will know the meaning of the Affair that shambleth in the stars, and will behold the hunters from Beyond . . . you will learn the very source of those Hounds of Tindalos who dwell in a chaotic, nebular universe at the very rim of space, and who are in league with those Outer Ones . . . all of these things, with which you are vaguely familiar through your readings, will you know—and much more. In the pages of the Book, which go beyond the very beginning, are revealed secrets which the wildest flights of your imagination cannot begin to comprehend . . . your mind, now such a puny thing, will expand to encompass that entire infinite arcanum of all matter, and you may learn in what manner the entire cosmos was spewed forth by an evil thought in the mind of a monstrous Thing in the Darkness . . . you will see that this cosmos which we consider infinite is but an atom in Their infinity, and you will behold the appalling position of our cosmos in that larger infinity, and the obscene rites in which it plays an integral part . . . you will know the histories of suns and nebulae, and yours will be the power of bodily transposition between planets, or even to galaxies so remote that their light has not yet reached Earth....”

  How can I describe those few minutes—his shrill voice going relentlessly on, the book lying open there on the table between us, the flames in the fireplace throwing flickering shadows about the room; I standing there stiffly erect, one hand on the table, mind reeling, trying to grasp the great magnitude of these things he was telling me and trying to weigh, one against the other, what I dared to believe and what I feared to believe!

  And all the time he was speaking his head was held in that position which made me think he was listening . . . listening . . . for what? And his gaze as he talked was not on me, but over my shoulder at the mantel where rested the clock....Oncewhile he was speaking I had slid my hand forward on the table, slowly, to almost touch the book, but an almost imperceptible change in the timbre of his voice made me draw my hand back. And all during his rambling sentences— whether it was the bewildering effect of his words on my brain, or not, I shall never know—I seemed to sense more and more clearly the presence of those invisible forces lurking near b
y, and they, too, seemed to be waiting....

  He was no longer speaking. I was not aware of when exactly he had stopped speaking; I only knew that I was no longer listening to his voice, but was listening for something else—something—I knew not what. I only knew that we were not alone in that room, and that the time had not yet come, but was near. So I listened for that which I could not quite hear, and stared again, fascinated, at the Book that lay there on the table between us....

  He saw that fascination.

  “Read,” he whispered fervently, bending toward me. “You know you want to read. You want to read.”

  Yes, I wanted to read. More and more was that fact forcing itself upon me. What sane man could believe that this Book had such menacing connections as he had hinted? But I was past being sure that I was a sane man. If I believed this story, I was assuredly not sane; if I did not believe, why did I hesitate?

  Again his whisper: “You want to read.”

  His almost imploring tone caused me to recoil from the Book in horror. But the fascination had not left me, and I could not utter the emphatic “no!” that had risen to my tongue. Instead, I looked quickly, a little wildly, about the room, into the corners, anywhere except into that little man’s eyes; for I suddenly knew that to do so would be fatal.

  Those unseen forces seemed to fill the room now. I could feel a definite tumult, a sort of surging to and fro, faint sounds of fury as of a mounting hostility between two opposing groups; a growing but unseen confusion of which I was the center. Into my mind flashed the thought that there was no little gray man, and no Book, and that all the seeming events of the evening were but a nightmare from which I would presently awaken. But no—here I was standing in my library beside the table with that absurd little man opposite me and that growing, unseen tumult about me. Could one think thus in nightmares, I wondered? Probably not, and therefore this was no nightmare.