Friday, July 4, 2014


Disclaimer: This is a parody of horror writer HP Lovecraft.  I wrote it during a night shift at the hospital ED, after hitting up a vending machine. It is a humorous piece and I mean no disrespect to anyone undertaking the Cthulhu workings or any Chaos or Necronomicon-based magick. Aficionados please note the Anglicised spelling.

Imagine my perturbation when, at four in the morning, I discovered these remarkable effigies, which may be of Sumerian or other Mesopotamian provenance. Facing a linguistic challenge on the scale of the Rosetta Stone, I attempted to decipher them. Were they glyphs? Did three men ride a turtle to visit a fat woman and her cat? Were they votive offerings? Over time, the images became more disturbing - the squashed and strangely squamous faces of the figures hinting of alienage rather than degeneration or miscegenation, the undeniably batrachian features of the turtle, the lurid green of the feline, the huge fly, the bizarre machine that looked like some sort of primitive airplane but was terrifyingly not to scale, the angles somehow wrong and nightmarish and indistinct, as if they belonged partly in another dimension.

A perverse admixture of fear and fascination gripped me. Suddenly, as if impelled by some sinister force outside of my usual quotidian consciousness, I devoured the effigies, one by one. Horrified by my actions,  which of course were outside of my usual character, which I consider to be self disciplined to the point of asceticism, I could but take some comfort in the fact that I had photographed them first.

It now being five in the morning, the gibbous moonset had commenced, and a futile dawn was beginning to stain a sky already devoid of all hope. As is my usual wont when when working through the night on my arcane and solitary labours, I attempted to retire, and lay down under my desk.

The terrible effigies began to roil, rotting, in my stomach. After dozing fitfully and briefly, I awoke in a world of shadows, gripped by some eldritch terror. What was that feline swish of a tail disappearing behind the door? Was it Bast or one of her minions? What was that buzzing sound? Could I be in the presence of Beezelbuth. dark lord of flies and carnage? Even as I write this, a high whining sound rends what is left of my shredded consciousness. Man was not meant to witness such horrors. The Old Ones are present in their merciless dark glory! They have arrived from the darkest dimensions, where they have waited for aeons, dead but dreaming, waiting.....the tentacles around the door!....the eyes!....the fat woman!......THIS MAY BE MY LAST POST.............