The Color of Evil - The Dark Descent V1 (1991)

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The Color of Evil - The Dark Descent V1 (1991) Page 18

by David G. Hartwell (Ed. )


  to cluster around the group of bobbing lanterns. The muffled

  beat of tom-toms was now faintly audible far, far ahead; and

  a curdling shriek came at infrequent intervals when the wind

  shifted. A reddish glare, too, seemed to filter through the

  pale undergrowth beyond endless avenues of forest night. Reluctant even to be left alone again, each one of the cowed squatters refused point-blank to advance another inch toward

  the scene of unholy worship, so Inspector Legrasse and his

  nineteen colleagues plunged on unguided into black arcades

  of horror that none of them had ever trod before.

  The region now entered by the police was one of traditionally evil repute, substantially unknown and untraversed by white men. There were legends of a hidden lake unglimpsed

  by mortal sight, in which dwelt a huge, formless white polypous thing with luminous eyes; and squatters whispered that bat-winged devils flew up out of caverns in inner earth to

  worship it at midnight. They said it had been there before

  D ’Iberville, before La Salle, before the Indians, and before

  even the wholesome beasts and birds of the woods. It was

  nightmare itself, and to see it was to die. But it made men

  dream, and so they knew enough to keep away. The present

  voodoo orgy was, indeed, on the merest fringe of this abhorred area, but that location was bad enough; hence perhaps the very place of the worship had terrified the squatters more

  than the shocking sounds and incidents.

  Only poetry or madness could do justice to the noises heard

  by Legrasse’s men as they ploughed on through the black

  morass toward the red glare and the muffled tom-toms. There

  are vocal qualities peculiar to men, and vocal qualities pe­

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  culiar to beasts; and it is terrible to hear the one when the

  source should yield the other. Animal fury and orgiastic licence here whipped themselves to daemoniac heights by howls and squawking ecstasies that tore and reverberated

  through .those nighted woods like pestilential tempests from

  the gulfs of hell. Now and then the less organised ululation

  would cease, and from what seemed a well-drilled chorus of

  hoarse voices would rise in sing-song chant that hideous

  phrase or ritual:

  "P h ’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R ’tyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn. ”

  Then the men, having reached a spot where the trees were

  thinner, came suddenly in sight of the spectacle itself. Four

  of them reeled, one fainted, and two were shaken into a frantic cry which the mad cacophony of the orgy fortunately deadened. Legrasse dashed swamp water on the face of the

  fainting man, and all stood trembling and nearly hypnotised

  with horror.

  In a natural glade of the swamp stood a grassy island of

  perhaps an acre’s extent, clear of trees and tolerably dry. On

  this now leaped and twisted a more indescribable horde of

  human abnormality than any but a Sime or an Angarola could

  paint. Void of clothing, this hybrid spawn were braying, bellowing, and writhing about a monstrous ring-shaped bonfire; in the centre of which, revealed by occasional rifts in the

  curtain of flame, stood a great granite monolith some eight

  feet in height; on top of which, incongruous in its diminutiveness, rested the noxious carven statuette. From a wide circle of ten scaffolds set up at regular intervals with the

  flame-girt monolith as a centre hung, head downward, the

  oddly marred bodies of the helpless squatters who had disappeared. It was inside this circle that the ring of worshippers jumped and roared, the general direction of the mass motion

  being from left to right in endless Bacchanal between the ring

  of bodies and the ring of fire.

  It may have been only imagination and it may have been

  only echoes which induced one of the men, an excitable

  Spaniard, to fancy he heard antiphonal responses to the ritual

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  from some far and unillumined spot deeper within the wood

  of ancient legendry and horror. This man, Joseph D. Galvez,

  I later met and questioned; and he proved distractingly imaginative. He indeed went so far as to hint of the faint beating of great wings, and of a glimpse of shining eyes and a mountainous white bulk beyond the remotest trees—but I suppose he had been hearing too much native superstition.

  Actually, the horrified pause of the men was of comparatively brief duration. Duty came first; and although there must have been nearly a hundred mongrel celebrants in the throng,

  the police relied on their firearms and plunged determinedly

  into the nauseous rout. For five minutes the resultant din and

  chaos were beyond description. Wild blows were struck, shots

  were fired, and escapes were made; but in the end Legrasse

  was able to count some forty-seven sullen prisoners, whom

  he forced to dress in haste and fall into line between two

  rows of policemen. Five of the worshippers lay dead, and

  two severely wounded ones were carried away on improvised

  stretchers by their fellow-prisoners. The image on the monolith, of course, was carefully removed and carried back by Legrasse.

  Examined at headquarters after a trip of intense strain and

  weariness, the prisoners all proved to be men of a very low,

  mixed-blooded, and mentally aberrant type. Most were seamen, and a sprinkling of negroes and mulattoes, largely West Indians or Brava Portuguese from the Cape Verde Islands,

  gave a colouring of voodooism to the heterogeneous cult. But

  before many questions were asked, it became manifest that

  something far deeper and older than negro fetichism was involved. Degraded and ignorant as they were, the creatures held with surprising consistency to the central idea of their

  loathsome faith.

  They worshipped, so they said, the Great Old Ones who

  lived ages before there were any men, and who came to the

  young world out of the sky. Those Old Ones were gone now,

  inside the earth and under the sea; but their dead bodies had

  told their secrets in dreams to the first men, who formed a

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  cult which had never died. This was that cult, and the prisoners said it had always existed and always would exist, hidden in distant wastes and dark places all over the world until the time when the great priest Cthulhu, from his dark house

  in the mighty city of R’lyeh under the water, should rise and

  bring the earth again beneath his sway. Some day he would

  call, when the stars were ready, and the secret cult would

  always be waiting to liberate him.

  Meanwhile no more must be told. There was a secret which

  even torture could not extract. Mankind was not absolutely

  alone among the conscious things of earth, for shapes came

  out of the dark to visit the Mthful few. But these were not

  the Great Old Ones. No man had ever seen the Old Ones.

  The carven idol was great Cthulhu, but none might say

  whether or not the others were precisely like him. No one

  could read the old writing now, but things were told by word

  of mouth. The chanted ritual was not the secret—that was

  never spoken aloud, only whispered. The chant meant only

  this: “ In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

  Only two of the prisoners were found sane enough to be

  hanged, and the rest were committed to various
institutions.

  All denied a part in the ritual murders, and averred that the

  killing had been done by Black Winged Ones which had come

  to them from their immemorial meeting-place in the haunted

  wood. But of those mysterious allies no coherent account

  could ever be gained. What the police did extract, came

  mainly from an immensely aged mestizo named Castro, who

  claimed to have sailed to strange ports and talked with undying leaders of the cult in the mountains of China.

  Old Castro remembered bits of hideous legend that paled

  the speculations of theosophists and made man and the world

  seem recent and transient indeed. There had been aeons when

  other Things ruled on the earth, and They had had great

  cities. Remains of Them, he said the deathless Chinamen had

  told him, were still to be found as Cyclopean stones on islands in the Pacific. They all died vast epochs of time before men came, but there were arts which could revive Them when

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  the stars had come round again to the right positions in the

  cycle of eternity. They had, indeed, come themselves from

  the stars, and brought Their images with Them.

  These Great Old Ones, Castro continued, were not composed altogether of flesh and blood. They had shape—for did not this star-fashioned image prove it?—but that shape was

  not made of matter. When the stars were right, They could

  plunge from world to world through the sky; but when the

  stars were wrong, They could not live. But although They no

  longer lived, They would never really die. They all lay in

  stone houses in Their great city of R’lyeh, preserved by the

  spells of mighty Cthulhu for a glorious resurrection when the

  stars and the earth might once more be ready for Them. But

  at that time some force from outside must serve to liberate

  Their bodies. The spells that preserved Them intact likewise

  prevented Them from making an initial move, and They could

  only lie awake in the dark and think whilst uncounted millions of years rolled by. They knew all that was occurring in the universe, for Their mode of speech was transmitted

  thought. Even now They talked in Their tombs. When, after

  infinities of chaos, the first men came, the Great Old Ones

  spoke to the sensitive among them by moulding their dreams;

  for only thus could Their language reach the fleshly minds of

  mammals.

  Then, whispered Castro, those first men formed the cult

  around small idols which the Great Ones shewed them; idols

  brought in dim aeras from dark stars. That cult would never

  die till the stars came right again, and the secret priests would

  take great Cthulhu from His tomb to revive His subjects and

  resume His rule of earth. The time would be easy to know,

  for then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones;

  free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy. Then the liberated Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout and kill and revel and enjoy themselves,

  and all the earth would flame with a holocaust of ecstasy and

  freedom. Meanwhile the cult, by appropriate rites, must keep

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  alive the memory of those ancient ways and shadow forth the

  prophecy of their return.

  In the elder time chosen men had talked with the entombed

  Old Ones in dreams, but then something had happened. The

  great stone city R ’lyeh, with its monoliths and sepulchres,

  had sunk beneath the waves; and the deep waters, hill of the

  one primal mystery through which not even thought can pass,

  had cut off the spectral intercourse. But memory never died,

  and high-priests said that the city would rise again when the

  stars were right. Then came out of the earth the black spirits

  of earth, mouldy and shadowy, and full of dim rumours

  picked up in caverns beneath forgotten sea-bottoms. But of

  them old Castro dared not speak much. He cut himself off

  hurriedly, and no amount of persuasion or subtlety could elicit

  more in this direction. The size of the Old Ones, too, he

  curiously declined to mention. O f the cult, he said that he

  thought the centre lay amid the pathless deserts of Arabia,

  where Irem, the City of Pillars, dreams hidden and untouched. It was not allied to the European witch-cult, and was virtually unknown beyond its members. No book had

  ever really hinted of it, though the deathless Chinamen said

  that there were double meanings in the Necronomicon of the

  mad Arab Abdul Alhazred which the initiated might read as

  they chose, especially the must-discussed couplet:

  “ That is not dead which can eternal lie,

  And with strange aeons even death may die.”

  Legrasse, deeply impressed and not a little bewildered,

  had inquired in vain concerning the historic affiliations of the

  cult. Castro, apparently, had told the truth when he said that

  it was wholly secret. The authorities at Tulane University

  could shed no light upon either cult or image, and now the

  detective had come to the highest authorities in the country

  and met with no more than the Greenland tale of Professor

  Webb.

  The feverish interest aroused at the meeting by Legrasse’s

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  H. P. Lovecraft

  tale, corroborated as it was by the statuette, is echoed in the

  subsequent correspondence of those who attended; although

  scant mention occurs in the formal publications of the society. Caution is the first care of those accustomed to face occasional charlatanry and imposture. Legrasse for some time lent the image to Professor Webb, but at the latter’s death it

  was returned to him and remains in his possession, where I

  viewed it not long ago. It is truly a terrible thing, and unmistakably akin to the dream-sculpture of young Wilcox.

  That my uncle was excited by the tale of the sculptor I did

  not wonder, for what thoughts must arise upon hearing, after

  a knowledge of what Legrasse had learned of the cult, of a

  sensitive young man who had dreamed not only the figure

  and exact hieroglyphics of the swamp-found image and the

  Greenland devil tablet, but had come in his dreams upon at

  least three of the precise words of the formula uttered alike

  by Esquimau diabolists and mongrel Louisianans? Professor

  Angell’s instant start on an investigation of the utmost thoroughness was eminently natural; though privately I suspected young Wilcox of having heard of the cult in some indirect

  way, and of having invested a series of dreams to heighten

  and continue the mystery at my uncle’s expense. The dream-

  narratives and cuttings collected by the professor were, of

  course, strong corroboration; but the rationalism of my mind

  and the extravagance of the whole subject led me to adopt

  what I thought the most sensible conclusions. So, after thoroughly studying the manuscript again and correlating the theosophical and anthropological notes with the cult narrative of

  Legrasse, I made a trip to Providence to see the sculptor and

  give him the rebuke I thought proper for so boldly imposing

  upon a learned and aged man.

  Wilcox still lived alone in the Fleur-de-Lys Building in


  Thomas Street, a hideous Victorian imitation of seventeenth-

  century Breton architecture which flaunts its stuccoed front

  amidst the lovely colonial houses on the ancient hill, and

  under the very shadow of the finest Georgian steeple in

  America. I found him at work in his rooms, and at once

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  147

  conceded from the specimens scattered about that his genius

  is indeed profound and authentic. He will, I believe, some

  time be heard from as one of the great decadents; for he has

  crystallised in clay and will one day mirror in marble those

  nightmares and phantasies which Arthur Machen evokes in

  prose, and Clark Ashton Smith makes visible in verse and in

  painting.

  Dark, frail, and somewhat unkempt in aspect, he turned

  languidly at my knock and asked me my business without

  rising. When I told him who I was, he displayed some interest; for my uncle had excited his curiosity in probing his strange dreams, yet had never explained the reason for the

  study. I did not enlarge his knowledge in this regard, but

  sought with some subtlety to draw him out. In a short time I

  became convinced of his absolute sincerity, for he spoke of

  the dreams in a manner none could mistake. They and their

  subconscious residuum had influenced his art profoundly, and

  he shewed me a morbid statue whose contours almost made

  me shake with the potency of its black suggestion. He could

  not recall having seen the original of this thing except in his

  own dream bas-relief, but the outlines had formed themselves

  insensibly under his hands. It was, no doubt, the giant shape

  he had raved of in delirium. That he really knew nothing of

  the hidden cult, save from what my uncle’s relentless catechism had let fall, he soon made clear; and again I strove to think of some way in which he could possibly have received

  the weird impressions.

  He talked of his dreams in a strangely poetic fashion; making me see with terrible vividness the damp Cyclopean city of slimy green stone—whose geometry, he oddly said, was

  all wrong—and hear with frightened expectancy the ceaseless, half-mental calling from underground: “Cthulhu fh ta g n ,’’ “Cthulhu fhtagn. ” These words had formed part

  of that dread ritual which told of dead Cthulhu’s dream-vigil

 

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