Cthulhu from Yuggoth

by Maximoff 3000

A steady thump could be heard against the wooden pier. The sound grew with each replication. Tim, now holding the joint tossed it into the water. He recognized the clacks as someone walking down the dock. The

  three boys sat nervously, trying to decide if looking back would seem suspicious. They knew Officer Turloue often came around this time of day. Being caught smoking weed on previous occasions, they already knew the consequences, and having their parents come pick them up at the Police Dept. again was starting to loose it's appeal. "Put your hands up you little punks.", a voice cried out behind them, "You're under arrest." Tim turned around and smiled, "Hey Trish, what's up?" Fred and Dave relaxed letting out a breath of air. "Not much. Wha'ch you guys do'in?" "Just tossed our last doobie", Dave said pathetically. "Damn, that sucks", Trish replied trying halfheartedly to hide a grin. "What's so funny?", Tim asked glaring up at Trish. Removing her hand from a denim pocket, she extended her fingers revealing a clear sack filled with vegetation, "Whaaa laaaah!" Tim and Dave's eyes lit up like children on Christmas morning in front of a gargantuan pile of cubes wrapped in various brightly decorated papers, "Sweeeeet!" "Let's roll it up!"

  Suddenly, that familiar clacking against wood could be heard steadily increasing in volume again. Tim, already on his feet, signaled to the rest of his posse, "Quick! On the boat! It's Turloue!" The four adolescent hoodlums clumsily huddled under the protective covering of a Windjammer. The thumps got louder as Officer Turloue neared the end of the pier. When he reached the end he looked out over the water

  taking a breath. Then, something caught his eye. His focus lowered to the water just off the dock. He stood unmoving a moment. Officer Turloue then proceeded nonchalantly to pull a net from the yacht just across from Tim, Trish, Dave, and Fred. Turloue lowered the net to the water, fishing out a waterlogged roll of burnt paper and grass. He held it to his nose inhaling slowly. Speaking to no one in particular he said, "Just as I thought." He made another quick glance around the pier mumbling to himself. The hidden adolescents all lay frozen, terrified to even take a breath. Then, with an unsatisfied grunt Turloue flung the roach back to it's watery grave and retraced his steps back to shore.

  Tim, cocky as he was, spoke up first, "Ahh, look at that son-of-a-bitch go." "Yeah, get the fuck off our dock fatass!", Dave added. The group snickered a moment as they exited their hideout. Lifting the tarp from the vessel, Tim said, "Hey, you know what would be awesome? Smok'in this shit on the water."

  "What do mean?", Trish inquiring.

  "I mean lets take this bitch out."

  "I don't know man.", Dave retracting the offer. "Come on. We'll take it out, smoke a couple stogies and bring it back before anyone notices." Everyone exchanged glances nervously. "Ahh, don't be a bunch of pussies. We ain't gonna get caught.", Tim already untying a rope attached to the dock. "Well, alright.", Dave assisting with a second rope. "I guess I'm in if Dave's in.", Trish slowly stepping onto the rocking vessel.

  Chapter 2:

  St. Philip's Cathedral, England

  It was a quiet Saturday afternoon at St. Philip's Cathedral. Father Hibbert sat silently at his desk going over notes for the next day's sermon. His eyes raised toward the ceiling slightly, not focused on anything in particular as a mesh of thoughts flowed through his mind. He set his papers down a moment to pick up his bible. Casually flipping, Father Hibbert soon found a passage of interest and began to read. He jumped sharply as a loud tapping brought him out of his concentration. "Father, sorry to disturb you. I need to run down to the sanctuary a minute. Do you need me to pick up anything for you while I'm down there?", a young pupil inquired. "No. I'm fine, thank you", Father Hibbert with a tight smile to mask his frustration with the intruder. "Alright, be back momentarily." Father Hibbert released a sigh as he returned his attention to the literature before him. In doing so though, he couldn't quite fix his focus on the words. All the letters seemed to blur together. He closed his eyes tightly and opened them again. No good. He rubbed his finger across the lids agitatedly. Still nothing. Removing his spectacles, he attempted to buff them against his shirt. He then returned them to their roost. As he peered down, a coolness filled his veins. Although the writing of the bible still appeared blurred, a new set of words now

  stood out clearly. "And it shalt rise up from the depths.", was slathered upon the parchment in a crimson liquid. The liquid began to run down his book and onto his desk. Father Hibbert sat mesmerized, staring blankly, trembling slightly. The red liquid continued it's path onto the pastors lap. His trousers were becoming drenched. He released the book, holding his hands up only to see more liquid coating his digits. His eyes could be no wider as his jaw dropped in an attempt to cry out, but no resonance was heard. Father Hibbert stared at the portrait of Jesus opposite his desk, pleading in his mind. And across the face of the textile, another bloody message emerged from the painting, "For the dawn of White Genocide doth not set far off." "I'm back Father... Father Hibbert? Is everything alright?" "Uhhm.... I.. I don't know", Father Hibbert's eyes shooting back and forth from bible to hands to portrait and back to bible again.

  Chapter 3:

  Newark, New Jersey

  Ring..... Ring....

  "Hello."

  "Hey Phyllis, it's Danny. I'm going over to help clean out my grandpa's house again. You wanna come?"

  "Yeah sure. I guess it's better than sittin' around here all day. Besides, maybe we could find some cool old junk or something."

  "O.K., well we're gonna head over there in about 30 minutes."

  "Alright, I'll ask my mom."

  "O.K., bye."

  *****

  A faded blue station wagon made a whining screech as it pulled into the driveway of a large antique house. "Alright, here we are." Danny and Phyllis eagerly jumped out of the vehicle, walking towards the Victorian home. "Wow, cool house!", Phyllis said with her head arched back to view the upper floors, "It looks like an old doll house." Danny's mother exited the vehicle, but with less enthusiasm, "Yes, Papa always loved it. Danny, I'm going to start in the office today if you need me. You and Phyllis be careful." "Yes ma'am."

  Danny and Phyllis began looking through various rooms of the large dwelling. "An old house like this has to have something interesting to find.", Phyllis said, picking up a dusty pair of spectacles. "So far I haven't seen anything but dusty old junk.", Danny replied. Phyllis glanced around, "Well, have you looked upstairs?" "Not too much." "Well, lets go."

  The stairs creaked like worn joints as they rose to the second floor. "Hey look Danny, a record player. You think it works?" "I'll check if it's plugged in." Phyllis clicked some knobs back and forth. "Try it again.", Danny said after securing the power cord. click.... click.... click... "Nothing", Phyllis shrugged. "Oh well, lets keep searching." Danny scanned the room spotting a desk, "Hey, maybe there's something in the desk." Phyllis and Danny approached the aged oak fixture. Danny immediately began pulling open drawers. His hand resembled a fish flopping on the beach as he carelessly flung miscellaneous items about. Phyllis, with a bit more of a mature nature, studied a stack of old papers she found in a cubby. Mixed within the documents, Phyllis revealed a tattered drawing. Upon closer examination, she realized what hung in her grasp was a map of sorts. Noticing Phyllis' interest, Danny turned his attention to the artifact as well. "Hey Phyllis, what's that a map of?", Danny trying to make out the words written across shapes likely to represent land masses. "Hum... I'm not quite sure. I don't

  recognize any of these names. It's pretty cool though. I'll hang on to it for now." Phyllis folded the map back to it's original form and put it in her pocket. Before she had even managed to remove her hand from her pocket, Danny was back to his reckless meandering. He tried to pull a large drawer open near the bottom. In it's old age, the hinges had rusted. When Danny jerked at it a second time, the entire piece of furniture shook. Sitting atop was a jar of pens that fell behind the desk, shattering on the floor. "Dammit Danny!", Phyllis said in aggravation. "Oh relax, I'll clean it up. Just help me move thi
s out a little." Danny and Phyllis braced themselves against the side, "O.K. ready?" "Yeah." "One.. Two.. Three.. Go." The heavy wooden desk slid more easily than expected as it had buffers under the legs. Danny took a step forward with the movement. As he did, a loose pen on the floor rolled under his shoe. Losing his balance, Danny fell hard against the exposed section of the wall. His elbow broke clean through the crumbling plaster. "Damn, this place is falling apart!"

  "You're telling me. You alright?", Phyllis asked, helping Danny to his feet.

  "Fine, just a scratch." A ray of light shown through the gaping hole in the wall. Danny looked in, "Hey look, there's stairs back here."

  "Really, where do you think they go?"

  "I guess the attic. You wanna go check it out?" "Shouldn't we go tell your mom that we broke a hole in

  the wall?"

  "She doesn't care. After we clean it out, we're just going to sell it to an investor or something. Anyway, if there's anything really cool in this house, I'll bet it's up there."

  "Oh, alright."

  Danny pushed on the sides of the opening widening it enough to crawl through. The dim stairwell reeked of stale air. From the layers of dust collected on the walls, it seemed no one had entered the walkway in a number of years. Reaching the top, it opened into a large room. While there were no lights, there was minimal visibility from the sun shining through some broken shutters on a window. Obviously used for storage, all manner of crates filled the area. Some were covered with sheets while others hadn't even been closed. Danny made a trail through some large containers pulling a covering from one. Hastily, he pushed open the lid revealing a pile of dingy clothing. Phyllis walked slowly past several crates. She didn't want to open just any crate, it needed to be special, have some character. Danny slammed the lid of his crate shut with a loud wham! Phyllis jumped just slightly, her focus on her current goal wouldn't be wavered. Danny pulled another sheet, he coughed as dust flew through the air. Phyllis was making her way to the far back corner of the room. Suddenly, she stopped. Before her sat a beautiful chest overlaiden with cobwebs. She could feel it the second it came into view, this was the

  one she was looking for. Dragging it into the light, she wiped away the dust and cobwebs. She attempted to unlatch the silver hinge, but upon doing so it simply broke, falling to the floor. Danny heard the commotion, not paying much attention. Gently lifting the lid, Phyllis peered inside. To her amazement, the contents were even more spectacular than expected. What lay within was a collection of seemingly ancient text. There had to have been at least twenty volumes that looked to predate the eldest artifact she had ever viewed after browsing hundreds of antique markets with her mother. Phyllis picked up a single edition. Opening the cover she read the title, "The Revelation.. something.. Glaaki.." She flipped through a few pages, "Wow", she said out loud. "What's that?", Danny asked from across the room. "This book is awesome!" "What's so awesome about it?", Danny asked as he walked over next to Phyllis. "Look at these blueprints. They're for some kind of weird machine. I've never seen anything like it before." "Cool", Danny said picking up another book from the chest. He looked at the cover, "How do you pronounce that? Nec-roe-nom." "Huh", Danny turned some pages. They both sat on the floor exploring their newfound treasures.

  "I don't get it. A lot of these words just look like gibberish. They're not even real words." Phyllis' attention didn't even falter. "Like this, HMULSGHIA. What does that even mean?" Suddenly, there was a faint call from below, "Danny! Phyllis!"

  Chapter 4:

  Kisangani, Africa

  "Tick, tack, tick, tack", Kitta tapped rocks together to match the beat in her head. Her feet splashed gently up and down in the water. The sun's edge had just met the horizon as Kitta's mother, Tattia, finished washing up in the stream, "Kitta dear, I'm headed back. Don't be long." "Yes mama", Kitta replied in a soft adolescent voice.

  Tattia gathered her things and began the short trek back to a nearby village. The songs of awakening insect life began to fill the air. Before long, the radiant golden sphere in the sky had turned to a dim illumination sinking into far off shadows. Kitta raised her feet hurriedly as the fear of her mother's retribution for her late arrival grew in her mind. Turning away from the water, her miniature peds followed the worn path toward her village. As the sun melted away completely, Kitta outstretched her arms trying to feel the clearing of the path through almost total absence of light. A tiny feeling of fright had begun to arise in her. She knew the terrain well and was not more than a tenth of a mile from the security of her loving family, but in absolute darkness it can be more difficult to focus on a distant assurance.

  As Kitta felt her way past a knobby trunk, she saw a faint glow ahead. It was hard to determine the shape

  of the iridescent object as it appeared to shift between solid and gas. It's hue was that of a calming blue. Echoing about the trees, Kitta could hear what sounded to be the song of an angel. Coming closer, the illumination looked to have taken the shape of a storybook fairy. It's hands made an inviting gesture. Kitta came nearer, reaching out to touch, but at the moment of contact the tiny fairy vanished.

  Tattia got up from her sitting place. She was furious, "Kitta knows better than this. She's never stayed out this late.", Tattia said to her spouse. She began tromping angrily towards the tree line of the woods following the path commonly taken to the stream. "Eeee!!! Ahgg!!!", an infantile scream burst from the thicket! "Kitta!", Tattia cried, running into the forestation. Others from the village grabbed weapons as they followed swiftly behind. As the group was sprinting through the night, suddenly Tattia halted in her tracks. Although nothing could be seen, she sensed she had arrived at her intended destination. Moisture could be felt on the bottom of her feet. Tattia strained to gain even a slight impression of what lay before her. Carrying a torch, her husband soon caught up to Tattia. Reaching back, Tattia retrieved the light. She held it ahead to view the terrain. Taking a step forward, Tattia reached down retrieving a small textile. In the center of a large flattened patch of shrubbery soaked in crimson, Tattia stood holding the torn burlap of her beloved child. As the shocked group searched the area, Tattia sat weeping, for she knew no relief would be found.

  Chapter 5:

  Remote island

  A small piece of land emerges from the waves, hundreds of miles from any civilization. There is no life there. The seagulls pass without a thought of resting their tired wings. It would seem that even the wind would choose to stir the elements of other isles. The tranquility creeps like an eerie fog about the untouched stones. And from a single crack, there is again movement which has not been seen here since the ancient times of man. A oily substance pulls itself up from the ground. It hangs weightless in the air. The blackish pool jerks swiftly. It encircles a rock, learning of it's texture. The weightless fluid hasn't experienced this type of stimulation in a great many centuries. It shows a sense of excitement even without a face to express upon. The shapeless being begins to flow about the island more freely. The memories stored in the nuclei of it's cells are becoming more clear as the grogginess of a thousand year slumber wears off. It is nearing a state of full awareness. The dark secretion now knows it's purpose.

  Chapter 6:

  At sea

  "Now Daaaaavid, what have you been up to", Tim hunched over grasping a wooden poll in hand to represent a cane. "It smells funny in here. Have you been smoking the pot?" "Ahhh! Ha!", Dave laughed at the impression of his mother. "Oh yeah, well how's this..... Tiffany, now you come here right this instant!", Dave wagged his finger and scrunched his eyebrows together for a serious expression, "Now didn't I tell you that smoking pot will ruin your life? How do you expect to become a distinguished member of society? Do you want to grow up to be a derelict? You know, when I was your age people had self respect as well as respect for their elders!" "Ahh!! Ha! Ha! Yeah O.K. Dad! Whatever!" Trish leaned against the railing as she watched the performance. Turning back to the water she looked over the side. As she did, Trish notic
ed the shore was no longer visible, "Hey Tim, you think we should start heading back?" Everyone casually turned to take in the view. The sun had begun to lower in the sky. "Yeah, I guess so.", Tim said. Trish looked around at ropes tied to several poles, "So what are you supposed to do?" "Oh it's simple. Just untie these, but watch out for that pole cause it can swing round real fast." Everyone moved back watching while Tim maneuvered about as if performing on stage. Upon completion, Tim stated,

  "O.K. now all we have to do is turn 'er around."

  Tim walked over to the large wooden wheel turning it gently, "You can't turn it too quick or you'll break the rudder." The vessel made a wide curve in the water cutting smoothly through the waves. "There, now in just a few minutes we'll start seeing land again", Tim pointed in the direction of travel.

  Chapter 7:

  Newark, New Jersey

  Danny sat at a desk in his bedroom. His lamp shone brightly in front of him. A text sat on the wooden tabletop accepting no less than his full attention. Danny stared at the jumbled words scattered about the page. He tried to sound them out, "GTHABUVUM?" Although he couldn't make sense of it, his focus refused to be redirected. Danny then rubbed his finger across the parchment, there was a warmth that secreted from it's pages. His eyes rolled back, facing inward. Sight was no longer the necessary form of absorption, the tips of his fingers interpreted the verbiage. Danny's jaw dropped open like that of a slumberous denizen. In his throat, gurgles churn and twitch. His dialect took on a form much like that of a croaking frog. As his jugular quivers, alien terms begin to reverberate from his mouth. The screeches increase in volume, "PTEHZ... "