Pyrate Cthulhu: Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos, Volume 1 (4.0)

by David Conyers

  Cthylla, as the regional natives have named it, was spotted feeding at the Barrier Reef at 9 p.m. Sept. 23rd. Three dive-teams were immediately dispatched southeast of its location, with an additional three teams dispatched to the north, in the coastal waters of New Guinea, to assist in herding the target.

  The dive teams, and their accompanying motor boats, chased it for five days. There was a very real fear it would once again escape to the Mariana or Tonga Trench, meaning at least six months would pass before the teams could try again.

  It did an admirable job of weaving in and out of the small South Sea islands, and two of the boats were run aground on rocks or coral. Finally, calling on the help of several fishermen and their skiffs, as well as a submersible, the fleet was able to herd the creature into open waters and through the underwater hatch of our research vessel.

  When she could no longer control her yawning, Katherine turned off her computer and went to bed. Her dreams that night were graphic and unpleasant, and filled with high-pitched wails, but it did not occur to her to record that fact in her journal.

  ***

  Field Journal October 10

  We have been unable to put a diver in the tank with Cthylla as yet. We can't get more than a fin in the water before she begins inking and bolts for her lair. Her body turns white instantaneously. The pale form shooting through the black water resembles nothing so much as a ghost floating through the darkened halls of a haunted house.

  However, Cthylla has become very social, as long as we remain on the other side of the glass, and has on numerous occasions suction-cupped her entire body to the glass wall, almost as if she knows we want to examine her. In this way, we have learned a great deal about her anatomy and physiology. We have determined she is female.

  Working from the blood and tissue samples taken last week during the unfortunate cat incident, and with the long-preserved blood samples taken from the creature which foundered the Sea-Maid off Hunterby Head nearly two decades ago, Helen is creating a biogenetically engineered spermatophore.

  Our team of technicians is hard at work constructing a mechanical male. Or at least the parts necessary-four electronic tentacles and a body front—for our first attempt at artificial insemination.

  We're afraid there isn't much time. Octopods have very short life spans, and we believe Cthylla may be the last of her kind.

  The only other member of this species, that we know of, was killed in the Sea-Maid incident.

  The research still hasn't revealed a species name, but local natives nicknamed that specimen "Dagon."

  ***

  “Excuse me, Dr. Collum?”

  David’s voice bore into her brain, but Katherine’s face was a mask of composure when she looked up from her computer at her work station in the lab.

  “I don’t mean to bother you,” he said insincerely, “but, can an octopus have more than eight legs?”

  “Of course not. The prefix ‘octo’ means eight.”

  “Then I think you’re going to have to rework your phylogeny. And you might teach your lab assistants how to count.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He pointed to the tank.

  Cthylla had twelve tentacles.

  The research team clustered around the tank in disbelief.

  “Is there any chance we miscounted?” Katherine asked.

  “All of us?” Helen asked, incredulously. “That’s impossible.” “Feeder” spoke up. “Believe me, I know exactly how many tentacles Cthylla has, and exactly where they are, before I open that hatch. I don’t want her grabbing me ‘cause she’s hungry!”

  “Well, she has twelve now,” Katherine said. “How do we account for that?”

  “The Octopus vulgaris can regrow a partial tentacle if it loses one to a predator,” Helen pointed out.

  “But not four full ones in a matter of hours!”

  “Are there any unusual markings on the new legs?”

  “Can anyone distinguish between the old and new ones ”

  The lab erupted in a babble of unanswerable questions.

  ***

  Field Journal October 12

  Today Cthylla has only eight legs. There is no sign that the other four ever existed. As a result of the disappearing legs, debate rages among the team about her phylogeny. Half the team insists that she must be in the giant squid family.

  But that is based strictly on her size. While giant squids do grow to twelve meters, far bigger than the largest known octopus, Cthylla still dwarfs that to such a proportion the issue becomes irrelevant. And squids only have ten arms.

  I remain convinced that she is related to the Octopods because of her ink sac and her lack of internal shell structure. The squid family exhibits neither of these characteristics.

  ***

  Field Journal October 15

  She is eating far more than we expected. Then, little is known about the feeding patterns of many of the Octopodidae family.

  We have hired a family-owned fishing company off the coast of New Guinea to provide one hundred pounds of live fish each day.

  The cost is far more than we budgeted for, but Arkham Industries has assured us that there's no problem.

  It won't be a concern much longer, as all species in the Octopodidae family stop feeding after they've laid their eggs, and die soon after.

  We have discovered that she prefers crustaceans and mollusks, especially prawns and giant clams, but as an economic necessity, we favor the larger, cheaper game fish such as blue marlin, mackerel, sailfish, and tuna. While we keep at least a half dozen of these large fish swimming in her tank at all times, she seems constantly hungry, and begs for treats.

  Today, when her increasingly insistent demands were ignored, she shot a stream of water through her filter vent at Feeder. The water struck him full in the chest, knocking him on his back and sending him hydroplaning across the floor. Afraid of more urgent messages, he dropped in the last two giant oysters.

  I observed her hunting technique. She crawled through the "octopus garden" of discarded bones and shells which litters the front yard of her lair, carefully sifting among them until she found two long, sturdy bones. Then she crawled quietly across the floor till she was just within reach of the oysters. She waited until they opened their shells. Then she quickly dropped the bones lengthwise across the openings, simultaneously. The oysters tried to snap their shells closed, but it was too late.

  Cthylla dragged her prizes into her lair to eat in privacy. Twenty minutes later, she tossed the shells out her door. She did not come out for several hours. I can't help but think she was taking an afternoon nap.

  ***

  Field Journal October 17

  Mike The Mechanical Monster is done. The mantle is just a large, red mylar balloon with black stripes painted on it. But the four mechanical tentacles are a wonder. Based on current Hollywood FX technology, the techs have rigged up sleeves and a harness backpack that allow the tentacle to mirror human arm motion.

  I will operate the foreplay arms, while Helen handles the insemination.

  We've been practicing on large boulders set up in the secondary tank, which we have prepared in case Cthylla shows any signs of cannibalism following the birth. After two days of practice, we feel comfortable enough with the equipment that we intend to make our first insemination attempt tonight.

  ‘“The dreamer dying faces death with scorn,

  ‘“And in his seed will rise again reborn!”’

  “David, what are you muttering now?” Katherine asked, not really wanting an answer, as she slipped into her harness and checked the controls.

  “Just a bit of Alhazred’s ancient poetry. Perhaps you’ve heard his most famous couplet? Seems quite fitting for the evening’s event.

  ‘That is not dead which can eternal lie,

  ‘And with strange aeons even death may die.’”

  “Thanks for that bit of literary brilliance. Now will you get out of our way, please?”

  Us
ing the winch, the techs lowered “Mike” into the tank. Cthylla had retreated to her lair, but was peeking out, watching the proceedings.

  When it became apparent the humans weren’t invading, she crawled out and ambled awkwardly toward her visitor.

  ***

  Field Journal October 18

  Intercourse occurred! Now we have to wait and see if Cthylla lays her eggs.

  It took an hour of flirting and teasing, with Cthylla frequently bolting back to her lair.

  Finally, she moved closer and let "Mike" touch her.

  Her skin changed from the heavy bumps that indicate fear or anger to a velvety smoothness. Her color changed to a pale green, indicating sexual arousal.

  Like other Octopods, she expected a period of foreplay, where the male caresses the female, stroking her body. But we had not anticipated this phase would last more than two hours! My arms were aching horribly by the time Cthylla finally allowed "Mike" to grasp and hold her while the scooped tentacle inserted the spermatophore into her mantle cavity.

  An hour into the process, one of the techs offered to relieve me, but I was afraid that the break in action might upset Cthylla.

  At times I saw Cthylla watching me, rather than her mechanical suitor, almost as if she knew it was me touching her. That's impossible, of course. We stood well away from the tank, relying on video monitors to guide our actions.

  I am amazed we were successful on our first attempt. Cthylla has been far more cooperative than most lab specimens. Perhaps her size gives her confidence. When one is as large as an apartment building, one has few natural predators.

  A side note, the cat is missing, and hasn't been seen for several days. The Feeder thinks it may have jumped to the fishing boat, lured by the smell of abundant food, during one of their deliveries.

  ***

  Field Journal October 22

  Cthylla has spent the last two days actively engaged in housekeeping. She began by sweeping all the refuse out of her lair: stray shell fragments, cartilage, and bones from her many meals. Which solved one mystery at least—the disappearance of the cat. Its skeleton was in the "dustbin."

  Helen was quite upset at the discovery. She had become rather attached to the creature. It did not surprise me overly much. It isn't the only example of a marine carnivore preying on land animals and birds.

  One of my earliest summer internships was a study of tiger sharks. Albatross chicks were a favorite delicacy of theirs. I'll never forget watching the sharks lunge out of the water to catch the birds in low flight.

  In a move that did surprise me, Cthylla continued her cleaning efforts, sweeping up the extensive octopus garden that surrounded her lair into a heaping pile below the feeding hatch. She moved to a distant corner and waited patiently as the Feeder netted the discards out.

  ***

  Field Journal October 23

  It has been our custom to work though the night and sleep by day. Cthylla, like all Octopods, is a nocturnal creature. We generally retire when she does, around 8 a.m. We were surprised to discover she had worked through the day yesterday. When we returned to the lab this evening, we found she had completely rearranged her lair, repositioning each of the 500-pound boulders to build a new cave, somewhat closer to the viewing wall, but much taller.

  As I had hoped, these domestic preparations were prenatal in nature. Cthylla began laying her eggs this evening.

  They look like a cluster of giant phosphorous jalapeno peppers hanging from the ceiling of her lair. Each oblong egg is roughly the length of a banana.

  There is only one strand of eggs, only 200-250 total. We are not sure what to make of this. The common octopus lays approximately 200,000, of which only one or two will survive.

  ***

  Field Journal October 24

  The egg strand hangs well inside the cave, but the technicians have rigged up spotlights and attached high powered zoom lenses to the video cameras. We have captured some spectacular video, and the team is quite excited about documentary and publishing prospects.

  I can't share their enthusiasm, however. I fully realize our work will revolutionize this branch of marine biology, but at present I'm too exhausted to think about it.

  David grates ever worse on my nerves. Today, when he laughed at the team's discussion of a documentary, I found myself having to defend him physically when one of the junior research assistants took a swing at him. He quoted more obscure poetry before strolling blithely into the hall.

  The words were nonsense, of course, but they have stayed with me. Perhaps it was the subtle menace in his tone. I do not trust David. His poem of the day was this:

  "We lie on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity and it was not meant that we should voyage far.

  The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

  It is the antithesis of all that I stand for as a scientist. I can not understand this man's motives or thinking.

  However, it does make me wonder, why has David been so cooperative? He's annoying, but he hasn't really interfered with anything we've done. On previous missions, he's fought my actions at every turn.

  ***

  Field Journal October 27

  Cthylla has begun the egg-cleaning and care rituals common among Octopods. Twice daily she oxygenates the eggs with streams of water from her siphon, then gently cleans them with her suction cups. The delicacy with which she handles them, in comparison with her enormous size, is amazing.

  Our Fertility Specialist believes Cthylla is winnowing the eggs, and claims she has discarded at least three of them.

  I have my doubts, however. Egg winnowing is not a trait common to other species in this family. More likely, the Fertility Specialist's first count was inaccurate.

  ***

  Field Journal October 29

  Cthylla actually pounded on the hatch today. We are uncertain what this means. Her restlessness is apparent, however. She paces the confines of her tank, her tentacles whipping furiously as she stalks across the aquarium floor.

  ***

  Field Journal October 30

  Cthylla began wailing in that painfully high pitch as we left the lab this morning. We are at a loss for the cause of her cry. The eggs are growing well, and she continues to treat them with the utmost care.

  I can't believe she's crying for her mate, as the Fertility Specialist suggests. In no Octopod family does the mate help care for the young.

  We are monitoring the water conditions carefully to be sure it isn't a chemistry problem.

  We are checking the hatch and all possible escape points carefully, as she is exploring those same areas from the inside of the tank.

  I don't know how I will stand her cries if they continue throughout our sleep period. I've barely slept in all the time I've been aboard this junker.

  And what little I do get is plagued by horrid dreams. I often regret sleeping at all.

  To make matters worse, Tomorrow is The Anniversary.

  ***

  Field Journal October 31 Personal Note

  Damn Cthylla's cry! I'd finally fallen asleep when she started up again, her wails corrupting my dreams before I woke. Though I'm not sorry I woke when I did! I remember only a snippet of the nightmare, but that image alone was more than my nerves can take.

  I was on a delivery room table. I'd just given birth. But it was David standing there with me, not Frank. He held up our baby. It was grotesquely deformed! It had four little legs, and a horrible soft beak where the mouth should be...

  Helen knocked softly on Cassie’s door. It was 4 p.m., hours before lab duty began, but Helen was worried about her friend. She’d watched a deep depression settle over Cassie during the last week that no success
in the lab could stave off.

  Receiving no answer, she knocked again, louder, and called out, “Cassie, it’s me, Helen. Can I come in?”

  She listened, heard nothing. She tried the latch. The door opened. The room was dark. It took a moment before her eyes adjusted and she could see Cassie, still in her night clothes, sitting up in bed, clutching a pillow to her face to muffle her sobs. Helen sat down beside her. She said nothing. There were no words that could take this pain away.

  Once a year, the doors to Cassie’s heart came unlocked and all the grief she kept imprisoned there poured out. Grief for a dead husband and an unborn child.

  Helen pulled Cassie into her arms and gently rocked her back and forth, as one might comfort a child.

  ***

  When Helen left, Katherine forced herself from the bed and into the bathroom. She showered and dressed, even applied makeup with unusual precision, all of it with shaking hands and deep breaths, as she tried to calm her nerves. With a Herculean effort of will, she marched to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall.

  She made it down the corridor and around the first corner before the first sob racked her body. She lurched against the wall. Her back pressed against the cold metal; she slid slowly to the floor. Her head buried in her knees, her arms locked around her legs, she hung on in desperation as the flood gates opened again.

  When the tears ran out, leaving only stuttering hiccups, she crawled on hands and knees back to her room.

  ***

  David Gaughan prowled the corridors looking for his prey. She hadn’t been in the lab at all this work-night. He had thought there was nothing that could shake her resolve, topple her unyielding strength. But there were hidden dimensions to Katherine, despite her near-seamless facade.

  David hid dark secrets behind his facade, too. Far darker than Katherine could ever comprehend.

  ***

  Field Journal November 1

  Personal

  It is possible that I have misjudged David Gaughan.