Hey, relatively new here to TV Tropes, with this being my first forum post-so if this is in the wrong place or anything, just let me know. Anyway, being part of my school's creative writing club, I've been trying to do some writing, and I've finished a piece I'd like some people to have a look at before showing the club. So, I thought might as well be here.
It's a bit of a Cosmic Horror story, heavily thematicly based off of Lovecraft, particulary the Dunwich Horror, though it does I think have it's own feel. I've written it out, in doing so somewhat freaking myself out, so I just want to see if other people find it as HONF as I do. Anyway, here it is-
Dearest Mother,
I am going to write down all of the events of that night, November 5th, 1927, the day when I believe it happened. If it happened. My nightmares at night seem to suggest that it happened, but perhaps they are simply the products of an overactive imagination, or too much cheese before slumber. I wish, indeed, desperately hope, that the events of that night did not occur. But I have a feeling that it will all end soon-indeed, maybe even tonight-and so I had better write this down before it finds me. I hope this helps you understand my isolation from the world
It had started with our new neighbour on the farm on the hill. Lovett, his name was, Arthur Lovett. The old farm had been-indeed, still is-a ruinous wreck, with the fences falling down and the buildings overgrown with every kind of plant imaginable. There were stories of what had happened there in the house before it was abandoned-some claimed it had been the home of a family that was torn apart in the witch hunts, with others claiming that as soon as 2 years ago, it had been the home of a man from Innsmouth, who killed himself only weeks after buying the property off an older farmer. In any case, the farm permeated a sense of despair and malevolence, resulting in no one trying to take the house as their own.
That was, of course, until Arthur Lovett entered the neighbourhood. A tall, gangly man, with smooth, fluid movements in everything he did, mesmerising in his walk and actions. He had entered the town one winter’s evening, October 20th, a nigh freezing night of pelting rain, and he sought refuge in the town’s tavern. The town’s people were known for their warmth and friendliness to strangers, but as I observed that evening, the cheer and conversation in the tavern dropped to a near silence with Arthur’s entrance. The man, whilst smiling still, had a bizarre...bug-like stare, constantly looking around the room in all directions, but always seeming to stare at you, if you stared at him. It unnerved the crowd, who silently, simultaneously, tried to watch him and avoid his gaze.
I was near the bar, and as Arthur Lovett walked towards it, a cold, clamminess came over me, with a feeling of...something, or some things, crawling across my skin. Arthur Lovett asked the barman for information on lodgings, and was told of the empty farm on the hillside. Accepting it, he walked away to the outside. As he did this, he made eye contact with me. And this, this is when I realised what disturbed me and the townspeople about him, his eyes...they were completely black, as black and cold as ice. At the time, I dismissed the events of that evening, trying to put them into the recesses of my mind, saying them the results of too much drink. The events that followed ruined any possibility of that
The house, the Lovett Farm, as it was now called, was in great disrepair, but as my wife and I watched the house, we noticed over the coming weeks it slowly being repaired, in a most odd and sinister way. The vines were removed from the house, and the missing bricks and glass were repaired, but they gained a bizarre, web-like texture. The glass in place appeared to be near shattered, it spiderwebbing across the window frame, and the bricks, formerly a blood red colour, had been changed to appear with a grey, webbed over appearance. The entire home had appeared to gain the very appearance of a spider’s web, as if the house was infested with thousands of thousands of the creatures. And as my wife and I noticed, the events on the farm became more suspicious and sinister as the months passed.
Lovett entered the town weekly and bought cattle, by the hundreds, it seemed, and yet his herd never appeared to be above 20, sickly looking, cattle. And talking to the postman, who was the only person to come within a hundred meters of the house on a frequent occurrence, he described how whenever he was outside the house, if he listened, he could hear within the basement of the house, a sound...or rather sounds...of a constant buzzing, and the clicking of...something. But the most sinister of all was the smell. A constant, ungodly stench permeated from the building, like that of a million rotting creatures, like Death itself lived within the walls of that house. It carried on the wind, reaching out and near choking the town. From where my wife and I lived, the stench was almost deadly, leaving us unable to do anything bar lie bedridden for days at its worst.
Eventually, on the night of November the 4th, it reached a fever pitch, with the stench mixing with a thick acrid smoke, blacker than the night sky. My wife could take it no longer, and marched over to the house, despite my protests, to complain. She was gone for two hours before I started worrying. It had turned 1AM, and I decided to investigate, dreading that Arthur Lovett had done something to her.
I approached the farmstead, the stench and smoke rising up out of it adding to the spiderwebby malevolence. I think at this point I finally accepted the truth about the Lovett farm.
These thoughts gave way to fear, as I heard as I grew closer the buzzing that the postman had described. It was an incessant, droning sound, sounding like it would grow in loudness, but never doing so. And underlying the buzzing, I could noticeably hear a disturbing, clicking sound, and a moaning, pained sound. My thoughts went to my wife’s fate, and I feared for the worst. I walked up to the door, and moved to knock on the door. I noticed that the door was slightly ajar, and decided to enter without letting Arthur Lovett realise I was here-I had a feeling that whatever was happening, he didn’t want to be interrupted.
I walked through the door, and immediately saw that, whilst the house may have appeared to be repaired on the outside, the efforts had not been made inside. The exposed rafters in the roof showed cobwebs beyond belief, stretching between the rafters and home to hundreds of inhabitants, and thousands of small, white packages of silk. I realised, seeing some of them still struggling to escape their binds, that they were flies, their buzzing sounding to me like, cries for help. I still have nightmares about that, that grotesque thought. Gulping, I continued through the room. It was a combined kitchen/living room/dining area, and as a I passed through, I saw how, apart from some rusty knives, there seemed to be no cutlery to be cleaned left by the sink. I walked over to look at the knives, to see if one was worth using as a weapon, and saw as I drew closer, that they were covered in blood, not rust as I first thought. I felt bile rise up in my throat, but forced it down as I wiped the knife off on my right trouser leg. The stench was revolting, but it still paled in comparison to the smell emanating from the rest of the house. I did my best to ignore it, as I walked over to the bookcases on the side of the room.
I passed my hand along the bookcase, looking through the titles this man kept-barbaric things of ill repute, such as The Communist Manifesto, Mein Kampf, Pride and Prejudice, a bizarre collection including books in Latin (a particularly odd one, called the Necronomicon, sent images of what felt like suckered tentacles into my heart as I passed my hand over it), until my hand landed on the most sinister of them all, one which made my very being stop at the mere sight of its name-Veteris Populi Araneae Inferorum- The Old Spider Peoples of Hell. Such a bizarre, laughable name, sounding like something out of one of those pulp horror magazines of yesteryear, and which I would normally laugh at...but something made me hesitant to do so, at this moment.
I did something then which I still...regret, I think. I don’t know. Maybe it’s knowledge helped me be here today...or maybe the imagery brought me to madness, and so destroyed me, left me mad and in my state today. I opened the book, and began reading its contents, being assaulted by the necromancy, hallucinations and horrors within. It described a world of perpetual night, a world where blackness extended across the land, where holes in its ground led to a hollow core. I may have managed to take this...but then it described, the, insane webbed constructions within this hollow realm, where abominations the Romans could only describe, as Araneae, spiders the size of men, live in communities thousands in number. And of how these, things, feed, of the priests within, able to take human form, and to enter the human world, Earth, and to take the creatures from here, through to the void we can only render as Hell-
-I slammed the book shut, at this point. It was madness to try reading more, and I knew it would be the death of me. I turned to go, terrified of this house, of the visions within that book. And as I turned to go, a little voice inside me reminded me why I was here, reminded me that my wife was somewhere in here. It’s funny, nowadays I can’t remember anything about her, bar the fact that she was young, a woman-at least, I think those two are true-and she was my wife. That night, those days, I would die for her. These days, I wouldn’t think twice of leaving her to her fate. I turned back towards where the bookcase stood, and looked to the right, seeing a staircase descending down into a basement. At this point, I believe I may have gone insane, for as I descended the stairs, I did not realise, but they appeared to work as if I were climbing them. I didn’t think two thoughts of it, until I saw the...the...
I didn’t think two thoughts of it until I had entered the basement, and I’ll mention this point again once it is important. As it were, I entered the basement, and saw around me the blood covering the walls. It appeared almost to be a slaughterhouse in here, and if it weren’t for the descending staircase, I would have thought it to be one. The walls were covered in patterns of dried blood, layers of it showing victims having died here over a long period of time. A table nearby had a long, serrated knife, covered again in what appeared to be rust-I decided to avoid taking a closer look at it. It strikes me now, but even as this room had a reddish light bathing the area in a violent glow, with dark reds and browns coating the walls and floors, there wasn’t anything, a flame or globe, to provide this light. I may have noticed that, if it weren’t for the...the...sheet.
The sheet...appeared, to be, perfectly normal. It had some slight bloodstains on it, but otherwise...seemed to be normal. In fact, the sheet, itself, was normal. What...what, was under the sheet, on the other hand...dreading it to be my wife, even though knowing it likely wasn’t, due to the shape and size, I moved over to it. It...it appeared to be moving, slightly, all over, as if shivering. Overjoyed, thinking my wife alive, I...I...I...threw back, the sheet.
The beast, was not long dead. It was a cow, I guess explaining where the herds of cattle Arthur Lovett owned went. The cow itself, was missing large parts of its body, I think. The jiggling, shivering, came from the thousands, nay, millions of flies, and maggots, covering its body, putrefying its flesh. I near fainted as I saw this, and the event which followed. In a seeming, glee, at the new prize to feast on, the spiders on the roof of this room, in their thousands, dropped upon the beast, and began cocooning the flies, their buzzing screams for help reaching new heights, intermingling with the hellish clicking of the spiders. I realised why Arthur Lovett had bought so many cattle.
As I turned away, bile rose up my throat, and in disgust, I let it fall on the ground. Mingling with the stench of blood, and putrefying flesh, it was near followed by a second round, but I managed to gain control of myself before allowing a repeat of the event. I moved away from the, the corpse of the thing-for it did not so much resemble a cow anymore, it’s flesh so mutilated and webbed that it did not resemble anything of this earth. As I turned away, I saw how the room here led to another staircase, looking to be going upwards. With joy at being able to escape from this demonic place, I began to try to move up the stairs, but with horror, I realised I appeared, not to be ascending, but to be continuing down further into the house.
Terrified, I began running down the stairs, but no sooner as I began to step forward along them, then I fell...up them, being dragged by some, sick perversion of gravity, upwards deeper into the Earth. Bile, my enemy constantly waiting to surge up past my lips and greet me, rose once again as my mind tried to comprehend this perverted mockery of physics I was caught within, but I forced it to accept it, forcing the bile back down my increasingly sore and ravaged throat.
The room I was in, appeared, to be empty. I had no idea how I had managed to be here, as I could hear the buzzing screams above me from the slaughterhouse I had left, below me, yet was above me. As I looked around the room, I saw more of the things, the horrendous creatures claiming to be deceased cattle. They laid around the room, in what I thought were more covering sheets, although these appeared to be slightly threadbare and filthy, black dots within them covering them. As I moved to walk to the other side of the room, I realised that they were not sheets, but webs filled with millions of deceased flies and maggots wrapped into the skin of the beasts.
I made my best attempts to ignore the packages spread along the sides of the room, rooting my eyes to the roof. It was, surprisingly clear compared to the other rooms, with only sparing amounts of webbing. It took until I saw the webbed carcass hanging above me, with small, smooth moving creatures on it, before I took my eyes away. It was then that I saw the window. It was a small window, big enough for a man to enter through-or indeed, as it is likely, to drag a cow through-and I thought at first that I had found a way outside. Joyfully, I began staggering towards it, when I realised something. The window, appeared normal. Outside, of it, what it looked onto, however...was black. Pure, unadulterated black.
The window didn’t look out onto the surface, as I had hoped, or even into the soil around the room, which would have failed to explain why there was a window there. It was just...pure black. I would have turned to move away, my mind, at this point I think, broken...but something inside me, told me that this was it, this was where my wife was. I walked towards the window, and reached into it. To my shock, my hand disappeared from sight, merging into the blackness. I could feel it still there, but could not see it. I pulled it back, and it re-appeared. Gulping, and before I could think better, I threw myself into the window, and fell into the blackness.
I fell for what felt like hours, before coming to a stop, crashing to the ground. I looked down, my head spinning from the impact, and my mind boggled as I saw how I had landed. The ground appeared to be stabbed through me, spikes covering it, passing straight through me, but it seemed to act almost as if it was curved, almost like a hole in the ground I screamed, but was horrified to find no sound, and with a dreadful, horrible feeling, I reached up to my face and felt that my mouth had disappeared. I had no mouth, and needed to scream.
Horrified, I jumped up, and saw that my mouth had fallen off and was now about 5 metres away from me. Disregarding all logic, I scrabbled towards it, and as I grabbed it, I continued sliding forward, uphill, the mouth screaming even as it was unconnected to my face. I managed to attach it as we plunged up the mountain, falling all the while. I put my hands down on the black ground to slow myself down, only managing to speed myself up. I saw a hole in the ground and grabbed for it, and managed to stop myself flying up into the sky-or as I realised, horrified, into a black ocean raging above me. I realised that everything was pure black around me...but I could see the different areas. I realised my mind couldn’t comprehend my surroundings, and tried to render them as well as it could. As my mind began to delve into insanity, my vision changed so that I saw the area around me as covered in spiderwebs, which I suspect allowed me to grasp what the area around me looked like. My mind boggling, I looked down into the pit I was clinging to, and heard something screaming down there. My thoughts turned to my wife, and ignoring the matted webs surrounding the hole, I went further in to this nightmare.
I crawled down into the web, and tumbling I found that gravity, the harsh, abused mistress she was, had decided to return. Repositioning myself to these changed conditions, I looked down and saw the web travel downwards in an infinite tangle...but appeared to be empty. I shivered, as I felt things crawling across me, but as I looked, there was nothing. Trying not to let my imagination get the better of me, I descended the web; sliding as well as I could along it. As I look back at it, I am horrified, no, petrified in my very mind, of what I had to do to descend it-or rather, what I had to overcome to reach it’s depths. For as I reached into the depths of this place, doing my best to stay sane, I ignored the fact that the web descended into the pure black of nothing-absolute nothing.
Looking back, I’m still surprised that the Romans took their word for Hell, and used it to describe this place-for, in my opinion, it would be better to be enslaved in Hell than to have to know of this place, for the burning pits of Hell cannot compare to the insanity of this place, beyond human understanding, indeed, in capable of human imagination. And as I descended for what felt like hours, upon hours, it could not even compare to when I left this tunnel-if it could be called such a thing, for the word tunnel doesn’t even begin to describe its sinister features-the...the...
The place, upon which it opened. A place which the very Devil himself would look upon and die from the knowledge of its existence. The smell, which had been conspicuously absent throughout my journey, assaulted my senses as my eyes failed to comprehend it. It, i believe i can call, would be called the main chamber, or the hive or some other thing. It was filled with thousands of them. Of the beasts, the terrors beyond belief. They had limbs, so many, beyond Arachnae, so many you would count them and lose count before you could finish. The corpses of the cattle were spread throughout the chamber, wrapped in their cocoons, and they all existed to feed one of these things. With mounting horror, I scanned this room, this chamber of monstrosities, of things man should never have known, of which exist in our genetic memories as recollections of demons and a fire and brimstone hell. And then I...I...I saw it
Arthur Lovett, the high priest of this...place. He was not human anymore. He was the...grandest? Of the things? The monstrous things? And he stood on a platform of black, of some eldritch nature. I would have turned to go, to sleep, perchance to wake from this place, had I not seen, and heard, the screams of my wife, her screaming my name. I turned to look at her, in horror seeing her tied to the web in front of Arthur Lovett-or indeed, whatever it was-and was petrified as I saw her egg sac penetrated by the phallus of the creature and the thousands upon thousands of them pouring out from her, as she screamed and moaned in some horrid ecstasy.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
It was here I went mad.
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It was here I went mad.
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It was here I went mad.
I hAvE No RE Coll E Ction of Ho W i goT out of There, anD I AM sure I would raaathaar it stay that way i have lived my days in fearful memory of wat i sore ther and i beg to god that he will bring me peace.
It is nigh. The creature is breaking my door as I speak. I shall fear it no more, for my insanity leaves me no reason to fear. The door is open. I will just go out for a walk for a while. Say hello to Uncle Howard
Hey, relatively new here to TV Tropes, with this being my first forum post-so if this is in the wrong place or anything, just let me know. Anyway, being part of my school's creative writing club, I've been trying to do some writing, and I've finished a piece I'd like some people to have a look at before showing the club. So, I thought might as well be here.
It's a bit of a Cosmic Horror story, heavily thematicly based off of Lovecraft, particulary the Dunwich Horror, though it does I think have it's own feel. I've written it out, in doing so somewhat freaking myself out, so I just want to see if other people find it as HONF as I do. Anyway, here it is-
Dearest Mother,
I am going to write down all of the events of that night, November 5th, 1927, the day when I believe it happened. If it happened. My nightmares at night seem to suggest that it happened, but perhaps they are simply the products of an overactive imagination, or too much cheese before slumber. I wish, indeed, desperately hope, that the events of that night did not occur. But I have a feeling that it will all end soon-indeed, maybe even tonight-and so I had better write this down before it finds me. I hope this helps you understand my isolation from the world
It had started with our new neighbour on the farm on the hill. Lovett, his name was, Arthur Lovett. The old farm had been-indeed, still is-a ruinous wreck, with the fences falling down and the buildings overgrown with every kind of plant imaginable. There were stories of what had happened there in the house before it was abandoned-some claimed it had been the home of a family that was torn apart in the witch hunts, with others claiming that as soon as 2 years ago, it had been the home of a man from Innsmouth, who killed himself only weeks after buying the property off an older farmer. In any case, the farm permeated a sense of despair and malevolence, resulting in no one trying to take the house as their own.
That was, of course, until Arthur Lovett entered the neighbourhood. A tall, gangly man, with smooth, fluid movements in everything he did, mesmerising in his walk and actions. He had entered the town one winter’s evening, October 20th, a nigh freezing night of pelting rain, and he sought refuge in the town’s tavern. The town’s people were known for their warmth and friendliness to strangers, but as I observed that evening, the cheer and conversation in the tavern dropped to a near silence with Arthur’s entrance. The man, whilst smiling still, had a bizarre...bug-like stare, constantly looking around the room in all directions, but always seeming to stare at you, if you stared at him. It unnerved the crowd, who silently, simultaneously, tried to watch him and avoid his gaze.
I was near the bar, and as Arthur Lovett walked towards it, a cold, clamminess came over me, with a feeling of...something, or some things, crawling across my skin. Arthur Lovett asked the barman for information on lodgings, and was told of the empty farm on the hillside. Accepting it, he walked away to the outside. As he did this, he made eye contact with me. And this, this is when I realised what disturbed me and the townspeople about him, his eyes...they were completely black, as black and cold as ice. At the time, I dismissed the events of that evening, trying to put them into the recesses of my mind, saying them the results of too much drink. The events that followed ruined any possibility of that
The house, the Lovett Farm, as it was now called, was in great disrepair, but as my wife and I watched the house, we noticed over the coming weeks it slowly being repaired, in a most odd and sinister way. The vines were removed from the house, and the missing bricks and glass were repaired, but they gained a bizarre, web-like texture. The glass in place appeared to be near shattered, it spiderwebbing across the window frame, and the bricks, formerly a blood red colour, had been changed to appear with a grey, webbed over appearance. The entire home had appeared to gain the very appearance of a spider’s web, as if the house was infested with thousands of thousands of the creatures. And as my wife and I noticed, the events on the farm became more suspicious and sinister as the months passed.
Lovett entered the town weekly and bought cattle, by the hundreds, it seemed, and yet his herd never appeared to be above 20, sickly looking, cattle. And talking to the postman, who was the only person to come within a hundred meters of the house on a frequent occurrence, he described how whenever he was outside the house, if he listened, he could hear within the basement of the house, a sound...or rather sounds...of a constant buzzing, and the clicking of...something. But the most sinister of all was the smell. A constant, ungodly stench permeated from the building, like that of a million rotting creatures, like Death itself lived within the walls of that house. It carried on the wind, reaching out and near choking the town. From where my wife and I lived, the stench was almost deadly, leaving us unable to do anything bar lie bedridden for days at its worst.
Eventually, on the night of November the 4th, it reached a fever pitch, with the stench mixing with a thick acrid smoke, blacker than the night sky. My wife could take it no longer, and marched over to the house, despite my protests, to complain. She was gone for two hours before I started worrying. It had turned 1AM, and I decided to investigate, dreading that Arthur Lovett had done something to her. I approached the farmstead, the stench and smoke rising up out of it adding to the spiderwebby malevolence. I think at this point I finally accepted the truth about the Lovett farm.
These thoughts gave way to fear, as I heard as I grew closer the buzzing that the postman had described. It was an incessant, droning sound, sounding like it would grow in loudness, but never doing so. And underlying the buzzing, I could noticeably hear a disturbing, clicking sound, and a moaning, pained sound. My thoughts went to my wife’s fate, and I feared for the worst. I walked up to the door, and moved to knock on the door. I noticed that the door was slightly ajar, and decided to enter without letting Arthur Lovett realise I was here-I had a feeling that whatever was happening, he didn’t want to be interrupted.
I walked through the door, and immediately saw that, whilst the house may have appeared to be repaired on the outside, the efforts had not been made inside. The exposed rafters in the roof showed cobwebs beyond belief, stretching between the rafters and home to hundreds of inhabitants, and thousands of small, white packages of silk. I realised, seeing some of them still struggling to escape their binds, that they were flies, their buzzing sounding to me like, cries for help. I still have nightmares about that, that grotesque thought. Gulping, I continued through the room. It was a combined kitchen/living room/dining area, and as a I passed through, I saw how, apart from some rusty knives, there seemed to be no cutlery to be cleaned left by the sink. I walked over to look at the knives, to see if one was worth using as a weapon, and saw as I drew closer, that they were covered in blood, not rust as I first thought. I felt bile rise up in my throat, but forced it down as I wiped the knife off on my right trouser leg. The stench was revolting, but it still paled in comparison to the smell emanating from the rest of the house. I did my best to ignore it, as I walked over to the bookcases on the side of the room.
I passed my hand along the bookcase, looking through the titles this man kept-barbaric things of ill repute, such as The Communist Manifesto, Mein Kampf, Pride and Prejudice, a bizarre collection including books in Latin (a particularly odd one, called the Necronomicon, sent images of what felt like suckered tentacles into my heart as I passed my hand over it), until my hand landed on the most sinister of them all, one which made my very being stop at the mere sight of its name-Veteris Populi Araneae Inferorum- The Old Spider Peoples of Hell. Such a bizarre, laughable name, sounding like something out of one of those pulp horror magazines of yesteryear, and which I would normally laugh at...but something made me hesitant to do so, at this moment.
I did something then which I still...regret, I think. I don’t know. Maybe it’s knowledge helped me be here today...or maybe the imagery brought me to madness, and so destroyed me, left me mad and in my state today. I opened the book, and began reading its contents, being assaulted by the necromancy, hallucinations and horrors within. It described a world of perpetual night, a world where blackness extended across the land, where holes in its ground led to a hollow core. I may have managed to take this...but then it described, the, insane webbed constructions within this hollow realm, where abominations the Romans could only describe, as Araneae, spiders the size of men, live in communities thousands in number. And of how these, things, feed, of the priests within, able to take human form, and to enter the human world, Earth, and to take the creatures from here, through to the void we can only render as Hell-
-I slammed the book shut, at this point. It was madness to try reading more, and I knew it would be the death of me. I turned to go, terrified of this house, of the visions within that book. And as I turned to go, a little voice inside me reminded me why I was here, reminded me that my wife was somewhere in here. It’s funny, nowadays I can’t remember anything about her, bar the fact that she was young, a woman-at least, I think those two are true-and she was my wife. That night, those days, I would die for her. These days, I wouldn’t think twice of leaving her to her fate. I turned back towards where the bookcase stood, and looked to the right, seeing a staircase descending down into a basement. At this point, I believe I may have gone insane, for as I descended the stairs, I did not realise, but they appeared to work as if I were climbing them. I didn’t think two thoughts of it, until I saw the...the...
I didn’t think two thoughts of it until I had entered the basement, and I’ll mention this point again once it is important. As it were, I entered the basement, and saw around me the blood covering the walls. It appeared almost to be a slaughterhouse in here, and if it weren’t for the descending staircase, I would have thought it to be one. The walls were covered in patterns of dried blood, layers of it showing victims having died here over a long period of time. A table nearby had a long, serrated knife, covered again in what appeared to be rust-I decided to avoid taking a closer look at it. It strikes me now, but even as this room had a reddish light bathing the area in a violent glow, with dark reds and browns coating the walls and floors, there wasn’t anything, a flame or globe, to provide this light. I may have noticed that, if it weren’t for the...the...sheet.
The sheet...appeared, to be, perfectly normal. It had some slight bloodstains on it, but otherwise...seemed to be normal. In fact, the sheet, itself, was normal. What...what, was under the sheet, on the other hand...dreading it to be my wife, even though knowing it likely wasn’t, due to the shape and size, I moved over to it. It...it appeared to be moving, slightly, all over, as if shivering. Overjoyed, thinking my wife alive, I...I...I...threw back, the sheet.
The beast, was not long dead. It was a cow, I guess explaining where the herds of cattle Arthur Lovett owned went. The cow itself, was missing large parts of its body, I think. The jiggling, shivering, came from the thousands, nay, millions of flies, and maggots, covering its body, putrefying its flesh. I near fainted as I saw this, and the event which followed. In a seeming, glee, at the new prize to feast on, the spiders on the roof of this room, in their thousands, dropped upon the beast, and began cocooning the flies, their buzzing screams for help reaching new heights, intermingling with the hellish clicking of the spiders. I realised why Arthur Lovett had bought so many cattle.
As I turned away, bile rose up my throat, and in disgust, I let it fall on the ground. Mingling with the stench of blood, and putrefying flesh, it was near followed by a second round, but I managed to gain control of myself before allowing a repeat of the event. I moved away from the, the corpse of the thing-for it did not so much resemble a cow anymore, it’s flesh so mutilated and webbed that it did not resemble anything of this earth. As I turned away, I saw how the room here led to another staircase, looking to be going upwards. With joy at being able to escape from this demonic place, I began to try to move up the stairs, but with horror, I realised I appeared, not to be ascending, but to be continuing down further into the house.
Terrified, I began running down the stairs, but no sooner as I began to step forward along them, then I fell...up them, being dragged by some, sick perversion of gravity, upwards deeper into the Earth. Bile, my enemy constantly waiting to surge up past my lips and greet me, rose once again as my mind tried to comprehend this perverted mockery of physics I was caught within, but I forced it to accept it, forcing the bile back down my increasingly sore and ravaged throat.
The room I was in, appeared, to be empty. I had no idea how I had managed to be here, as I could hear the buzzing screams above me from the slaughterhouse I had left, below me, yet was above me. As I looked around the room, I saw more of the things, the horrendous creatures claiming to be deceased cattle. They laid around the room, in what I thought were more covering sheets, although these appeared to be slightly threadbare and filthy, black dots within them covering them. As I moved to walk to the other side of the room, I realised that they were not sheets, but webs filled with millions of deceased flies and maggots wrapped into the skin of the beasts. I made my best attempts to ignore the packages spread along the sides of the room, rooting my eyes to the roof. It was, surprisingly clear compared to the other rooms, with only sparing amounts of webbing. It took until I saw the webbed carcass hanging above me, with small, smooth moving creatures on it, before I took my eyes away. It was then that I saw the window. It was a small window, big enough for a man to enter through-or indeed, as it is likely, to drag a cow through-and I thought at first that I had found a way outside. Joyfully, I began staggering towards it, when I realised something. The window, appeared normal. Outside, of it, what it looked onto, however...was black. Pure, unadulterated black.
The window didn’t look out onto the surface, as I had hoped, or even into the soil around the room, which would have failed to explain why there was a window there. It was just...pure black. I would have turned to move away, my mind, at this point I think, broken...but something inside me, told me that this was it, this was where my wife was. I walked towards the window, and reached into it. To my shock, my hand disappeared from sight, merging into the blackness. I could feel it still there, but could not see it. I pulled it back, and it re-appeared. Gulping, and before I could think better, I threw myself into the window, and fell into the blackness.
I fell for what felt like hours, before coming to a stop, crashing to the ground. I looked down, my head spinning from the impact, and my mind boggled as I saw how I had landed. The ground appeared to be stabbed through me, spikes covering it, passing straight through me, but it seemed to act almost as if it was curved, almost like a hole in the ground I screamed, but was horrified to find no sound, and with a dreadful, horrible feeling, I reached up to my face and felt that my mouth had disappeared. I had no mouth, and needed to scream.
Horrified, I jumped up, and saw that my mouth had fallen off and was now about 5 metres away from me. Disregarding all logic, I scrabbled towards it, and as I grabbed it, I continued sliding forward, uphill, the mouth screaming even as it was unconnected to my face. I managed to attach it as we plunged up the mountain, falling all the while. I put my hands down on the black ground to slow myself down, only managing to speed myself up. I saw a hole in the ground and grabbed for it, and managed to stop myself flying up into the sky-or as I realised, horrified, into a black ocean raging above me. I realised that everything was pure black around me...but I could see the different areas. I realised my mind couldn’t comprehend my surroundings, and tried to render them as well as it could. As my mind began to delve into insanity, my vision changed so that I saw the area around me as covered in spiderwebs, which I suspect allowed me to grasp what the area around me looked like. My mind boggling, I looked down into the pit I was clinging to, and heard something screaming down there. My thoughts turned to my wife, and ignoring the matted webs surrounding the hole, I went further in to this nightmare.
I crawled down into the web, and tumbling I found that gravity, the harsh, abused mistress she was, had decided to return. Repositioning myself to these changed conditions, I looked down and saw the web travel downwards in an infinite tangle...but appeared to be empty. I shivered, as I felt things crawling across me, but as I looked, there was nothing. Trying not to let my imagination get the better of me, I descended the web; sliding as well as I could along it. As I look back at it, I am horrified, no, petrified in my very mind, of what I had to do to descend it-or rather, what I had to overcome to reach it’s depths. For as I reached into the depths of this place, doing my best to stay sane, I ignored the fact that the web descended into the pure black of nothing-absolute nothing.
Looking back, I’m still surprised that the Romans took their word for Hell, and used it to describe this place-for, in my opinion, it would be better to be enslaved in Hell than to have to know of this place, for the burning pits of Hell cannot compare to the insanity of this place, beyond human understanding, indeed, in capable of human imagination. And as I descended for what felt like hours, upon hours, it could not even compare to when I left this tunnel-if it could be called such a thing, for the word tunnel doesn’t even begin to describe its sinister features-the...the...
The place, upon which it opened. A place which the very Devil himself would look upon and die from the knowledge of its existence. The smell, which had been conspicuously absent throughout my journey, assaulted my senses as my eyes failed to comprehend it. It, i believe i can call, would be called the main chamber, or the hive or some other thing. It was filled with thousands of them. Of the beasts, the terrors beyond belief. They had limbs, so many, beyond Arachnae, so many you would count them and lose count before you could finish. The corpses of the cattle were spread throughout the chamber, wrapped in their cocoons, and they all existed to feed one of these things. With mounting horror, I scanned this room, this chamber of monstrosities, of things man should never have known, of which exist in our genetic memories as recollections of demons and a fire and brimstone hell. And then I...I...I saw it
Arthur Lovett, the high priest of this...place. He was not human anymore. He was the...grandest? Of the things? The monstrous things? And he stood on a platform of black, of some eldritch nature. I would have turned to go, to sleep, perchance to wake from this place, had I not seen, and heard, the screams of my wife, her screaming my name. I turned to look at her, in horror seeing her tied to the web in front of Arthur Lovett-or indeed, whatever it was-and was petrified as I saw her egg sac penetrated by the phallus of the creature and the thousands upon thousands of them pouring out from her, as she screamed and moaned in some horrid ecstasy.
It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad. It was here I went mad.
I hAvE No RE Coll E Ction of Ho W i goT out of There, anD I AM sure I would raaathaar it stay that way i have lived my days in fearful memory of wat i sore ther and i beg to god that he will bring me peace.
It is nigh. The creature is breaking my door as I speak. I shall fear it no more, for my insanity leaves me no reason to fear. The door is open. I will just go out for a walk for a while. Say hello to Uncle Howard
Your loving son, Benjamin Lovecraft.
edited 1st Aug '11 5:43:17 PM by Haghog