Inspector Legrasse’s Story

The older matters which had made the sculptor's dream and bas-relief so significant to my uncle formed the subject of the second half of his long manuscript. Once before, it appears, Professor Angell had seen the hellish outlines of the nameless monstrosity, puzzled over the unknown hieroglyphics, and heard the ominous syllables which can be rendered only as "Cthulhu"; and all this in so stirring and horrible a connection that it is small wonder he pursued young Wilcox with queries and demands for data.

Earlier events had made the sculptor's dream and bas-relief so significant to my uncle. Those events filled the second half of his long manuscript. It appears that Professor Angell had once before seen the hellish outlines of the nameless monstrosity. He had puzzled over the unknown hieroglyphics and heard the ominous syllables that can only be written as "Cthulhu". All these things had been connected with something so disturbing and horrible that his response was hardly surprising. He had pressed young Wilcox with questions and demands for information.

This earlier experience had come in 1908, seventeen years before, when the American Archeological Society held its annual meeting in St. Louis. Professor Angell, as befitted one of his authority and attainments, had had a prominent part in all the deliberations; and was one of the first to be approached by the several outsiders who took advantage of the convocation to offer questions for correct answering and problems for expert solution.

This earlier experience had happened in 1908, seventeen years before. That year, the American Archeological Society held its annual meeting in St. Louis. Professor Angell had played a leading role in all the discussions, as suited his expertise and achievements. Several outsiders had come to the meeting to seek accurate answers to their questions and expert solutions to their problems. Professor Angell was among the first people they approached.

The chief of these outsiders, and in a short time the focus of interest for the entire meeting, was a commonplace-looking middle-aged man who had traveled all the way from New Orleans for certain special information unobtainable from any local source. His name was John Raymond Legrasse, and he was by profession an inspector of police. With him he bore the subject of his visit, a grotesque, repulsive, and apparently very ancient stone statuette whose origin he was at a loss to determine.

The most notable of these outsiders was an ordinary-looking middle-aged man. Before long, he became the center of attention for the entire meeting. He had traveled all the way from New Orleans for specific information he could not get from any local source. His name was John Raymond Legrasse, and he was a police inspector. He had brought along the reason for his visit: a grotesque, repulsive stone statuette that appeared very ancient. He could not determine its origin.

It must not be fancied that Inspector Legrasse had the least interest in archeology. On the contrary, his wish for enlightenment was prompted by purely professional considerations. The statuette, idol, fetish, or whatever it was, had been captured some months before in the wooded swamps south of New Orleans during a raid on a supposed voodoo meeting; and so singular and hideous were the rites connected with it, that the police could not but realize that they had stumbled on a dark cult totally unknown to them, and infinitely more diabolic than even the blackest of the African voodoo circles. Of its origin, apart from the erratic and unbelievable tales extorted from the captured members, absolutely nothing was to be discovered; hence the anxiety of the police for any antiquarian lore which might help them to place the frightful symbol, and through it track down the cult to its fountain-head.

Do not imagine that Inspector Legrasse had the slightest interest in archeology. On the contrary, he wanted answers for purely professional reasons. The statuette, idol, fetish, or whatever it was, had been seized some months earlier. Police had found it in the wooded swamps south of New Orleans during a raid on a suspected voodoo meeting. The rituals connected with the object were so strange and hideous that the police could only reach one conclusion. They had stumbled on a dark cult entirely unknown to them, infinitely more diabolical than even the darkest African voodoo circles. Absolutely nothing could be learned about the cult’s origins, apart from the erratic and unbelievable stories forced from captured members. So the police were eager for any knowledge of ancient things that might help them identify the terrifying symbol. Through the symbol, they hoped to trace the cult to its source.

Inspector Legrasse was scarcely prepared for the sensation which his offering created. One sight of the thing had been enough to throw the assembled men of science into a state of tense excitement, and they lost no time in crowding around him to gaze at the diminutive figure whose utter strangeness and air of genuinely abysmal antiquity hinted so potently at unopened and archaic vistas. No recognized school of sculpture had animated this terrible object, yet centuries and even thousands of years seemed recorded in its dim and greenish surface of unplaceable stone.

Inspector Legrasse was hardly prepared for the stir caused by the object he presented. A single look had been enough to send the gathered scientists into a state of tense excitement. They immediately crowded around him to stare at the tiny figure. Its utter strangeness and air of unimaginably deep antiquity strongly suggested ancient worlds still unexplored. No known school of sculpture had given shape to this terrible object. Yet centuries, even thousands of years, seemed recorded in its dull, greenish surface, made of stone no one could identify.

The figure, which was finally passed slowly from man to man for close and careful study, was between seven and eight inches in height, and of exquisitely artistic workmanship. It represented a monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopuslike head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind. This thing, which seemed instinct with a fearsome and unnatural malignancy, was of a somewhat bloated corpulence, and squatted evilly on a rectangular block or pedestal covered with undecipherable characters. The tips of the wings touched the back edge of the block, the seat occupied the center, whilst the long, curved claws of the doubled-up, crouching hind legs gripped the front edge and extended a quarter of the way down toward the bottom of the pedestal. The cephalopod head was bent forward, so that the ends of the facial feelers brushed the backs of huge forepaws which clasped the croucher's elevated knees. The aspect of the whole was abnormally lifelike, and the more subtly fearful because its source was so totally unknown. Its vast, awesome, and incalculable age was unmistakable; yet not one link did it show with any known type of art belonging to civilization's youth—or indeed to any other time.

The figure was finally passed slowly from man to man for close, careful study. It stood between seven and eight inches tall and was crafted with exquisite artistry. It depicted a monster with a roughly human shape, but with an octopus-like head and a face of writhing feelers. Its scaly body looked rubbery, with enormous claws on its front and hind feet and long, narrow wings behind. The creature seemed filled with a terrifying, unnatural malice. Its body was somewhat bloated, and it squatted menacingly on a rectangular block or pedestal covered with unreadable symbols. The wingtips touched the block's back edge, and the creature's rump rested in the center. Its hind legs were folded into a crouch. Their long, curved claws gripped the front edge and reached a quarter of the way down the pedestal. The octopus-like head bent forward, so that the facial feelers brushed the backs of its huge forepaws. These paws clasped the crouching creature's raised knees. The whole figure looked unnaturally lifelike, and its completely unknown origin made it frightening in a subtler way. Its immense, awe-inspiring age was unmistakable, though impossible to measure. Yet it showed no connection to any known art from civilization's earliest days, or indeed from any other time.

Totally separate and apart, its very material was a mystery; for the soapy, greenish-black stone with its golden or iridescent flecks and striations resembled nothing familiar to geology or mineralogy. The characters along the base were equally baffling; and no member present, despite a representation of half the world's expert learning in this field, could form the least notion of even their remotest linguistic kinship. They, like the subject and material, belonged to something horribly remote and distinct from mankind as we know it; something frightfully suggestive of old and unhallowed cycles of life in which our world and our conceptions have no part.

Quite apart from everything else, the material itself was a mystery. The soapy, greenish-black stone had golden or iridescent flecks and streaks. It resembled nothing known to geology or mineralogy. The symbols along the base were equally baffling. Those present represented half the world's expert knowledge in the field. Yet none could begin to identify even the most distant linguistic relatives of these symbols. Like the subject depicted and the material, the symbols belonged to something horribly remote and separate from humanity as we know it. They were frightening hints of ancient, unholy cycles of life in which our world and our ideas have no place.

And yet, as the members severally shook their heads and confessed defeat at the inspector's problem, there was one man in that gathering who suspected a touch of bizarre familiarity in the monstrous shape and writing, and who presently told with some diffidence of the odd trifle he knew. This person was the late William Channing Webb, professor of anthropology in Princeton University, and an explorer of no slight note.

And yet, as the members shook their heads one by one and admitted defeat at the inspector's problem, one man sensed something strangely familiar about the monstrous shape and writing. He soon spoke, somewhat hesitantly, about the odd little detail he knew. This was the late William Channing Webb, professor of anthropology at Princeton University and an explorer of considerable reputation.

Professor Webb had been engaged, forty-eight years before, in a tour of Greenland and Iceland in search of some Runic inscriptions which he failed to unearth; and whilst high up on the West Greenland coast had encountered a singular tribe or cult of degenerate Eskimos whose religion, a curious form of devil-worship, chilled him with its deliberate bloodthirstiness and repulsiveness. It was a faith of which other Eskimos knew little, and which they mentioned only with shudders, saying that it had come down from horribly ancient eons before ever the world was made. Besides nameless rites and human sacrifices there were certain queer hereditary rituals addressed to a supreme elder devil or tornasuk; and of this Professor Webb had taken a careful phonetic copy from an aged angekok or wizard-priest, expressing the sounds in Roman letters as best he knew how. But just now of prime significance was the fetish which this cult had cherished, and around which they danced when the aurora leaped high over the ice cliffs. It was, the professor stated, a very crude bas-relief of stone, comprising a hideous picture and some cryptic writing. And as far as he could tell, it was a rough parallel in all essential features of the bestial thing now lying before the meeting.

Forty-eight years earlier, Professor Webb had toured Greenland and Iceland, searching for Runic inscriptions he never found. Far up the West Greenland coast, he had encountered a strange tribe or cult of degenerate Eskimos. Their religion was an unusual form of devil-worship that chilled him with its deliberate bloodthirstiness and repulsiveness. Other Eskimos knew little of this faith and spoke of it only with shudders. They said it had survived from horribly ancient ages, before the world was even made. Besides unspeakable rites and human sacrifices, the cult had certain strange rituals passed down through generations. These rituals were directed toward a supreme elder devil or tornasuk. Professor Webb had carefully recorded their sounds from an aged angekok or wizard-priest. He had written the sounds in Roman letters as best he could. But the most important thing now was the sacred object the cult had treasured. They danced around it when the aurora leaped high above the ice cliffs. The professor said the object was a very crude stone carving in low relief. It showed a hideous image and some mysterious writing. As far as he could tell, the carving roughly matched every essential feature of the bestial thing before the meeting.

These data, received with suspense and astonishment by the assembled members, proved doubly exciting to Inspector Legrasse; and he began at once to ply his informant with questions. Having noted and copied an oral ritual among the swamp cult-worshipers his men had arrested, he besought the professor to remember as best he might the syllables taken down amongst the diabolist Eskimos. There then followed an exhaustive comparison of details, and a moment of really awed silence when both detective and scientist agreed on the virtual identity of the phrase common to two hellish rituals so many worlds of distance apart. What, in substance, both the Eskimo wizards and the Louisiana swamp-priests had chanted to their kindred idols was something very like this—the word-divisions being guessed at from traditional breaks in the phrase as chanted aloud:

The assembled members received this information with suspense and astonishment. Inspector Legrasse found it doubly exciting and immediately began questioning his informant. He had written down a spoken ritual used by the swamp cult worshipers his men had arrested. He begged the professor to recall, as accurately as possible, the syllables recorded among the devil-worshiping Eskimos. They then compared every detail. A moment of truly awed silence followed when the detective and scientist agreed that the phrases were almost identical. The same phrase appeared in two hellish rituals practiced worlds apart. Both the Eskimo wizards and the Louisiana swamp priests had chanted something very like this to their similar idols. The word divisions are guesses, based on the traditional pauses in the phrase when chanted aloud:

Legrasse had one point in advance of Professor Webb, for several among his mongrel prisoners had repeated to him what older celebrants had told them the words meant. This text, as given, ran something like this:

Legrasse had one advantage over Professor Webb. Several of his mongrel prisoners had told him what older worshippers had said the words meant. The meaning they gave was roughly this:

And now, in response to a general urgent demand, Inspector Legrasse related as fully as possible his experience with the swamp worshipers; telling a story to which I could see my uncle attached profound significance. It savored of the wildest dreams of myth-maker and theosophist, and disclosed an astonishing degree of cosmic imagination among such half-castes and pariahs as might be least expected to possess it.

And now, at everyone’s urgent request, Inspector Legrasse described his experience with the swamp worshipers as fully as possible. I could see that my uncle found the story deeply significant. It resembled the wildest dreams of myth-makers and theosophists. The story revealed an astonishing capacity to imagine the cosmos among such half-castes and outcasts. They were among those least expected to have such a capacity.

On November 1st, 1907, there had come to New Orleans police a frantic summons from the swamp and lagoon country to the south. The squatters there, mostly primitive but good-natured descendants of Lafitte's men, were in the grip of stark terror from an unknown thing which had stolen upon them in the night. It was voodoo, apparently, but voodoo of a more terrible sort than they had ever known; and some of their women and children had disappeared since the malevolent tom-tom had begun its incessant beating far within the black haunted woods where no dweller ventured. There were insane shouts and harrowing screams, soul-chilling chants and dancing devil-flames; and, the frightened messenger added, the people could stand it no more.

On November 1st, 1907, the New Orleans police received a frantic call for help from the swamps and lagoons to the south. The squatters there were mostly primitive but good-natured descendants of Lafitte's men. They were terrified of an unknown thing that had crept up on them in the night. Apparently, it was voodoo, but a more terrible kind than they had ever known. Some of their women and children had disappeared since the sinister tom-tom began beating without pause. The beating came from deep within the dark, haunted woods, where none of the residents dared to go. There were wild shouts and agonizing screams, chants that chilled the soul, and dancing devil-flames. And, the frightened messenger added, the people could take no more.

So a body of twenty police, filling two carriages and an automobile, had set out in the late afternoon with the shivering squatter as a guide. At the end of the passable road they alighted, and for miles splashed on in silence through the terrible cypress woods where day never came. Ugly roots and malignant hanging nooses of Spanish moss beset them, and now and then a pile of dank stones or fragments of a rotting wall intensified by its hint of morbid habitation a depression which every malformed tree and every fungous islet combined to create. At length the squatter settlement, a miserable huddle of huts, hove in sight; and hysterical dwellers ran out 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.

So twenty police officers set out late that afternoon in two carriages and an automobile, guided by the shivering squatter. They got out where the usable road ended. For miles, they splashed silently through the terrible cypress woods, where daylight never reached. Twisted roots and sinister hanging nooses of Spanish moss surrounded them. Now and then, a pile of damp stones or pieces of a rotting wall hinted at some ghastly dwelling. These traces deepened the gloom that every misshapen tree and fungus-covered patch of land helped create. At last, the squatter settlement came into view, a miserable cluster of huts. Hysterical residents ran out and crowded around the bobbing lanterns. The muffled beat of tom-toms could now be heard faintly, far, far ahead. At irregular intervals, when the wind shifted, a bloodcurdling shriek reached them. A reddish glow also seemed to filter through the pale undergrowth beyond endless corridors of dark forest. Although the terrified squatters dreaded being left alone again, every one flatly refused to go another inch toward the unholy worship. So Inspector Legrasse and his nineteen colleagues pushed on without a guide. They entered black, arching passages of horror where none of them had ever been 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.

The police now entered a region long known for evil, largely unknown and unexplored by white men. Legends told of a hidden lake no mortal had ever seen. In it lived a huge, shapeless white thing with luminous eyes and a body like a polyp. Squatters whispered that bat-winged devils flew up from caverns deep inside the earth to worship the thing at midnight. They said the thing had been there before D'Iberville, before La Salle, before the Indians. It had been there even before the wholesome beasts and birds of the woods. It was nightmare itself, and seeing it meant death. But the thing made men dream, so they knew enough to stay away. The current voodoo orgy was, in fact, at the very edge of this dreaded area. But even that location was bad enough. Perhaps the place of worship itself had therefore terrified the squatters more than the shocking sounds and events.

Only poetry or madness could do justice to the noises heard by Legrasse's men as they plowed on through the black morass toward the red glare and the muffled tom-toms. There are vocal qualities peculiar to men, and vocal qualities peculiar to beasts; and it is terrible to hear the one when the source should yield the other. Animal fury and orgiastic license here whipped themselves to demoniac 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 organized ululations would cease, and from what seemed a well-drilled chorus of hoarse voices would rise in singsong chant that hideous phrase or ritual:

Only poetry or madness could capture the sounds Legrasse's men heard as they pushed through the black swamp. They headed toward the red glow and the muffled beating of tom-toms. Some sounds belong to humans, and others belong to beasts. Hearing one kind from a creature that should produce the other is terrifying. Here, animal fury and wild, unrestrained revelry rose to demonic heights, driven by howls and ecstatic shrieks. These cries tore through the dark woods and echoed like plague-bearing storms from the depths of hell. Now and then, the more chaotic howling would stop. Then, what sounded like a well-trained chorus of hoarse voices would rise in a singsong chant of that hideous phrase or ritual:

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 hypnotized with horror.

Then the men reached a spot where the trees were thinner and suddenly saw the spectacle itself. Four of them staggered, one fainted, and two let out frantic cries. Fortunately, the wild, clashing noise of the orgy muffled their cries. Legrasse splashed swamp water on the fainting man's face, and all stood trembling, almost hypnotized by 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 center 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 center hung, head downward, the oddly marred bodies of the helpless squatters who had disappeared. It was inside this circle that the ring of worshipers jumped and roared, the general direction of the mass motion being from left to right in endless bacchanale between the ring of bodies and the ring of fire.

In a natural clearing in the swamp stood a grassy island, perhaps an acre in size. It had no trees and was fairly dry. On the island, a horde of grotesquely abnormal humans leaped and twisted. Their appearance was beyond description, and only a Sime or an Angarola could have painted them. Naked, these hybrid creatures brayed, bellowed, and writhed around a monstrous ring of fire. At its center stood a massive granite pillar about eight feet tall, visible through occasional gaps in the flames. On top rested the foul carved statuette, looking strangely tiny against the pillar. Ten scaffolds stood at regular intervals in a wide circle around the pillar surrounded by flames. From the scaffolds hung the strangely mutilated bodies of the helpless squatters who had disappeared, their heads pointing downward. Inside this circle, the ring of worshipers jumped and roared. The crowd moved generally from left to right in an endless frenzy between the bodies and the 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 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.

One of the men, an excitable Spaniard, thought he heard voices answering the ritual. Only imagination or echoes may have led him to think so. The responses seemed to come from a distant, unlit spot deeper in the woods of ancient legend and horror. I later met and questioned this man, Joseph D. Galvez, and found him annoyingly imaginative. He even went so far as to hint at the faint beating of great wings. He also hinted at glimpsing shining eyes and a mountain-sized white shape beyond the farthest 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 worshipers 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.

In fact, the men’s horrified pause was relatively brief. Duty came first. Although there must have been nearly a hundred mongrel worshipers in the crowd, the police trusted their firearms. They plunged determinedly into the sickening throng. For five minutes, the noise and chaos that followed were beyond description. Wild blows were struck, shots were fired, and some people escaped. But in the end, Legrasse counted some forty-seven sullen prisoners. He forced them to dress quickly and line up between two rows of policemen. Five of the worshipers lay dead. Two badly wounded worshipers were carried away on makeshift 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 coloring of voodooism to the heterogeneous cult. But before many questions were asked, it became manifest that something far deeper and older than negro fetishism was involved. Degraded and ignorant as they were, the creatures held with surprizing consistency to the central idea of their loathsome faith.

The prisoners were questioned at headquarters after an intensely stressful and exhausting trip. All proved to be low, mixed-blooded men with disturbed minds. Most were sailors. A few negroes and mulattoes, mostly West Indians or Brava Portuguese from the Cape Verde Islands, were among them. Their presence gave the diverse cult a touch of voodooism. But before many questions were asked, something became clear. Something far deeper and older than negro fetishism was involved. Degraded and ignorant as the creatures were, they held with surprising consistency to the central idea of their loathsome faith.

They worshiped, 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 man, who formed a 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 waters, 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.

They said they worshiped the Great Old Ones, who lived ages before any humans existed. The Great Old Ones had come from the sky to the young world. Now those Old Ones were gone, buried inside the earth and under the sea. But their dead bodies had revealed their secrets in dreams to the first man. He had founded a cult that had never died out. This was that cult. The prisoners said the cult had always existed and always would. It remained hidden in remote wastelands and dark places all over the world, waiting for the great priest Cthulhu to rise. Cthulhu would rise from his dark home in the mighty underwater city of R'lyeh and rule the earth again. Someday, when the stars were ready, he would call, and the secret cult would always be waiting to free 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 faithful 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."

For now, no more could be told. There was a secret that even torture could not force anyone to reveal. Humans were not entirely alone among the conscious beings on earth. Shapes came out of the darkness to visit the faithful few. But these shapes were not the Great Old Ones. No one had ever seen the Old Ones. The carved idol depicted great Cthulhu, but no one could say whether the others looked exactly like him. No one could read the ancient writing anymore, but things were passed down by word of mouth. The ritual chant was not the secret. The secret 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.

Only two of the prisoners were found sane enough to be hanged. The rest were sent to various institutions. All denied taking part in the ritual murders. They insisted that the Black-winged Ones had done the killing. These beings had come to them from their ancient meeting place in the haunted woods. But no one could ever get a clear account of these mysterious allies. What the police did learn came mainly from an extremely old mestizo named Castro. He claimed to have sailed to strange ports and spoken with immortal cult leaders 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 eons 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 man came, but there were arts which could revive Them when 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.

Old Castro remembered fragments of horrifying legends that made the speculations of theosophists seem tame. These legends made humanity and the world seem very recent and short-lived indeed. There had been ages when other Things ruled the earth, and They had built great cities. Castro said the deathless Chinamen had told him that remains of these Things could still be found. These remains were enormous stones on islands in the Pacific. They had all died vast ages before humans appeared. But there were secret arts that could revive Them when the stars returned to the right positions in eternity’s cycle. They had, in fact, come from the stars themselves 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 molding their dreams; for only thus could Their language reach the fleshly minds of mammals.

These Great Old Ones, Castro continued, were not made entirely of flesh and blood. They had a shape. Did not this image, fashioned among the stars, prove that? But their shape was not made of matter. When the stars were right, they could plunge through the sky from world to world. But when the stars were wrong, they could not live. Yet although they no longer lived, they would never truly die. They all lay in stone houses in their great city of R'lyeh. Mighty Cthulhu's spells preserved them for a glorious resurrection, when the stars and the earth might again be ready for them. But when that time came, some outside force would have to free their bodies. The spells that kept them intact also prevented them from making the first move. They could only lie awake in the dark and think as countless millions of years passed. They knew everything that was happening in the universe, because they communicated by transmitting thoughts. Even now they spoke to one another in their tombs. When the first men appeared after endless ages of chaos, the Great Old Ones spoke to the sensitive among them. They did so by shaping those men's dreams. Only in this way could their language reach the physical minds of mammals.

Then, whispered Castro, those first men formed the cult around small idols which the Great Ones showed them; idols brought in dim eras 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 reveling 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 alive the memory of those ancient ways and shadow forth the prophecy of their return.

Then, Castro whispered, those first men formed the cult around small idols that the Great Ones showed them. The idols had been brought from dark stars in distant ages. The cult would never die until the stars were right again. Then the secret priests would bring great Cthulhu out of his tomb to revive his subjects and rule earth again. The time would be easy to recognize, because mankind would then have become like the Great Old Ones. People would be free and wild, beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside. All men would shout and kill and celebrate in joy. Then the freed Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout, kill, celebrate, and enjoy themselves. And the whole earth would blaze in a firestorm of ecstasy and freedom. Meanwhile, through the proper rituals, the cult must keep the memory of those ancient ways alive. Those rituals must also foreshadow the prophesied return of the Old Ones.

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 sepulchers, had sunk beneath the waves; and the deep waters, full 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, moldy and shadowy, and full of dim rumors 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. Of the cult, he said that he thought the center 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 much-discussed couplet:

In ancient times, chosen men had spoken in dreams with the entombed Old Ones, but then something had happened. The great stone city R'lyeh, with its monoliths and tombs, had sunk beneath the waves. The deep waters held the one primal mystery through which not even thought can pass. Those waters had cut off the ghostly communication. But memory never died, and high priests said the city would rise again when the stars were right. Then the black spirits of the earth emerged from the ground, moldy and shadowy. They were full of vague rumors gathered in caverns beneath forgotten sea floors. But old Castro dared not say much about those spirits. He stopped himself abruptly, and no amount of persuasion or subtle questioning could draw out more on the subject. Strangely, he also refused to mention the size of the Old Ones. As for the cult, he said he thought its center lay in the trackless deserts of Arabia. There Irem, the City of Pillars, dreams, hidden and untouched. The cult was not allied with the European witch-cult and was almost unknown outside its membership. No book had ever truly hinted at the cult, though the deathless Chinamen said the Necronomicon contained double meanings. They said the initiated could interpret those meanings as they chose. This was especially true of the much-discussed couplet in that book by the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred:

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.

Legrasse was deeply impressed and quite bewildered. He had asked about the cult’s historical connections but learned nothing. Castro had apparently told the truth when he said the cult was entirely secret. The experts at Tulane University could explain neither the cult nor the image. Now the detective had consulted the country’s leading experts, but learned nothing beyond Professor Webb’s story from Greenland.

The feverish interest aroused at the meeting by Legrasse's 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 publication 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.

Legrasse's story, backed by the statuette, stirred intense interest at the meeting. That excitement appears in later letters from those who attended, although the society's official publication says little about it. People used to encountering occasional frauds and hoaxes put caution first. Legrasse lent the statuette to Professor Webb for a time. But after Webb's death, the statuette was returned to Legrasse, who still owns it. I saw it in his possession not long ago. It is truly a terrible thing, unmistakably similar to the sculpture young Wilcox made from his dreams.

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 Eskimo 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 invented 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.

I was not surprised that the sculptor’s story excited my uncle. Knowing what Legrasse had learned about the cult, what thoughts must such a story have raised? A sensitive young man had dreamed of the figure and the exact hieroglyphics on two objects. These were the image found in the swamp and the Greenland devil tablet. He had also encountered in his dreams at least three exact words of the chant. Both Eskimo devil worshippers and mongrel Louisianans had spoken those words. Professor Angell’s immediate decision to begin an extremely thorough investigation was perfectly natural. But privately, I suspected young Wilcox had heard about the cult indirectly. I thought he had invented a series of dreams to deepen and prolong the mystery at my uncle’s expense. The dream accounts and newspaper clippings the professor collected were, of course, strong supporting evidence. But my rational outlook and the outlandish nature of the whole subject led me toward seemingly more sensible conclusions. So I thoroughly studied the manuscript again. I compared the theosophical and anthropological notes with Legrasse’s account of the cult. Then I traveled to Providence to see the sculptor. I intended to give him the scolding I thought he deserved for so boldly deceiving an elderly, learned 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 conceded from the specimens scattered about that his genius is indeed profound and authentic. He will, I believe, be heard from sometime as one of the great decadents; for he has crystallized in clay and will one day mirror in marble those nightmares and fantasies which Arthur Machen evokes in prose, and Clark Ashton Smith makes visible in verse and in painting.

Wilcox still lived alone in the Fleur-de-Lys Building on Thomas Street. The building is a hideous Victorian imitation of seventeenth-century Breton architecture. Its stucco front flaunts itself among the lovely Colonial houses on the old hill. It stands in the very shadow of the finest Georgian steeple in America. I found him working in his rooms. The pieces scattered around immediately convinced me that his genius was indeed deep and genuine. I believe he will someday be known as one of the great decadents. For he has given solid form in clay to nightmares and fantasies he will one day capture in marble. These are the nightmares and fantasies Arthur Machen evokes in prose, and Clark Ashton Smith reveals in poetry and 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.

Dark, frail, and somewhat unkempt, he turned slowly at my knock and asked what I wanted without getting up. When I told him who I was, he showed some interest. My uncle had stirred his curiosity by investigating his strange dreams, but had never explained why he was studying them. I told him nothing more about the reason, but tried to draw him out with some subtlety.

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 showed 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.

Before long, I became convinced he was completely sincere, because no one could mistake the way he described his dreams. The dreams and their lingering effects on his subconscious had deeply influenced his art. He showed me a disturbing statue whose outlines almost made me tremble at the dark horrors they powerfully suggested. He could not remember seeing the original of this figure except in the bas-relief from his dream. But its outlines had taken shape under his hands without his realizing it. It was, without doubt, the giant figure he had raved about in his delirium. He soon made it clear that he truly knew nothing about the secret cult. His only knowledge came from what my uncle had let slip during his relentless questioning. So once again, I struggled to imagine how he could possibly have received these strange 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 fhtagn," "Cthulhu fhtagn."

He spoke of his dreams in a strangely poetic way. His words made me see, with terrifying clarity, the damp city of massive, slimy green stone. Strangely, he said the city's geometry was all wrong. His words also made me hear, with fearful anticipation, the endless calling from underground, partly in my mind: "Cthulhu fhtagn," "Cthulhu fhtagn."

These words had formed part of that dread ritual which told of dead Cthulhu's dream-vigil in his stone vault at R'lyeh, and I felt deeply moved despite my rational beliefs. Wilcox, I was sure, had heard of the cult in some casual way, and had soon forgotten it amidst the mass of his equally weird reading and imagining. Later, by virtue of its sheer impressiveness, it had found subconscious expression in dreams, in the bas-relief, and in the terrible statue I now beheld; so that his imposture upon my uncle had been a very innocent one. The youth was of a type, at once slightly affected and slightly ill-mannered, which I could never like; but I was willing enough now to admit both his genius and his honesty. I took leave of him amicably, and wish him all the success his talent promises.

These words had been part of that dreadful ritual describing dead Cthulhu's dreaming vigil in his stone vault at R'lyeh. I felt deeply moved despite my rational beliefs. I was sure Wilcox had heard of the cult in some casual way. He had soon forgotten it among all his equally strange reading and imaginings. Later, the cult's powerful impression had surfaced subconsciously in his dreams, in the bas-relief, and in the terrible statue before me. So his deception of my uncle had been quite innocent. The young man was slightly pretentious and slightly rude, a type I could never like. But I was now quite willing to acknowledge both his genius and his honesty. I parted with him on friendly terms, and I wish him all the success his talent promises.

The matter of the cult still remained to fascinate me, and at times I had visions of personal fame from researches into its origin and connections. I visited New Orleans, talked with Legrasse and others of that old-time raiding-party, saw the frightful image, and even questioned such of the mongrel prisoners as still survived. Old Castro, unfortunately, had been dead for some years. What I now heard so graphically at first hand, though it was really no more than a detailed confirmation of what my uncle had written, excited me afresh; for I felt sure that I was on the track of a very real, very secret, and very ancient religion whose discovery would make me an anthropologist of note. My attitude was still one of absolute materialism, as I wish it still were, and I discounted with almost inexplicable perversity the coincidence of the dream notes and odd cuttings collected by Professor Angell.

The cult still fascinated me. At times, I imagined winning fame by researching its origins and connections. I visited New Orleans and talked with Legrasse and others who had taken part in the raid years earlier. I saw the horrifying image and even questioned the mongrel prisoners who were still alive. Unfortunately, Old Castro had been dead for some years. The vivid firsthand accounts I now heard were really only a detailed confirmation of what my uncle had written. Even so, they stirred my excitement again. I felt sure I was tracking a very real, very secret, and very ancient religion. Discovering it would make me a respected anthropologist. I still believed completely that nothing existed beyond the physical world, as I wish I still did. With an almost inexplicable stubbornness, I dismissed the connections between the dream notes and unusual clippings Professor Angell had collected.

One thing which I began to suspect, and which I now fear I know, is that my uncle's death was far from natural. He fell on a narrow hill street leading up from an ancient waterfront swarming with foreign mongrels, after a careless push from a negro sailor. I did not forget the mixed blood and marine pursuits of the cult-members in Louisiana, and would not be surprized to learn of secret methods and poison needles as ruthless and as anciently known as the cryptic rites and beliefs. Legrasse and his men, it is true, have been let alone; but in Norway a certain seaman who saw things is dead. Might not the deeper inquiries of my uncle after encountering the sculptor's data have come to sinister ears? I think Professor Angell died because he knew too much, or because he was likely to learn too much. Whether I shall go as he did remains to be seen, for I have learned much now.

I began to suspect one thing, and now I fear I know it: my uncle’s death was far from natural. He fell on a narrow hillside street leading up from an ancient waterfront swarming with foreign mongrels. A negro sailor had given him a careless push. I remembered the mixed blood of the cult members in Louisiana and their work at sea. I would not be surprised to learn of secret methods and poison needles. Such methods could be as ruthless and as ancient as the mysterious rites and beliefs. Legrasse and his men have, admittedly, been left alone. But in Norway, a certain sailor who saw things is dead. After studying the sculptor’s information, might my uncle’s deeper investigations have reached sinister ears? I think Professor Angell died because he knew too much, or because he was likely to learn too much. Whether I will die as he did remains to be seen, for I have learned much now.