Weeks in the Past (Again)
The Sons of Dunwich
The Thing That Should Not Be by Metallica
But not too many.
You open your eyes to find yourself staring directly up at the night sky. The beautiful night sky.
It was so crystal clear. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. You could see every star. You can even make out several constellations from where you lay. There's Orion, and there's Ursa Major, and, is that Libra? Yeah, it's Libra. At least you think it is. You don't think you've ever seen the night sky this clear. You could spend all night looking at it. Just lying here looking up at it... forever, or at least for as long as you could. Pity you don't have a girlfriend or any kind of significant other to enjoy this with. And the sound of the waves nearby only adds to the ambiance of the stars above somehow.
Wait, what?
It's at that instant that all of your senses return to you all at once (you know how it is when you wake up, first you open your eyes and see whatever directly in front of you, then after a few moments you start actually paying attention to what's around you, like actually noticing how your bedsheets feel or hearing the sounds of whatever's going on around you. It's not as if you don't feel or hear them, you just don't notice them immediately since you're just coming out of sleep) and you realize several things.
For starters, you don't think that you're anywhere remotely close to where you were before. The fact that you hear water pretty much confirms that for you. The last thing you remember was getting pulled into an alleyway behind that diner you ate at before getting kicked in the face by that friggin huge guy, and you're pretty sure it was morning then. That aside, the next thing you notice is how the floor beneath you feels. It doesn't feel like concrete, and it's certainly not a bed. It's wood. It felt like some kind of harsh, wooden floor, and maybe it's just you, but it seems to be rocking back and forth. Now that you think about it, the stars above you seem to be moving back and forth a little bit too. That, combined with the sound of water all around you crashing against something like waves only drew you to one conclusion.
You sat back up instantaneously the moment you could feel yourself able to move, only to come face to face with the ocean in front of you. It doesn't take long after you see that for you to get back on your feet and walk towards the edge. You look down into the water the moment you reach it. You see the light of the stars reflected in the water as well as your own reflection. The water was just as crystal clear as the skies.
With all of this, your mind could only draw one conclusion. It wasn't as if you could be anywhere else.
You were on a boat.
"Ah, so that lad's finally awake," you suddenly hear a voice that sounds like gravel being rubbed into some poor bastard's face say. Startled, to say the least, you immediately turn around to see the source of the voice standing in front of the cabin of the boat. He was shorter than you, if only by a few inches, and wore a white, buttoned up shirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of black boots and a navy blue jacket. He also had on a blue ship captain's hat that matched his jacket. Yes, he actually was wearing a ship captain's hat. Judging by just his clothes alone, this guy couldn't be anymore of a stereotypical sailor than he already was. It probably wouldn't have been that much of a stretch to guess that this was his ship.
He was also much older than you by the looks of him, maybe in his late 50's or 60's at least, as his skin, especially on his face, showed obvious wrinkles and he sported long, pure white hair that was haphazardly cut behind him. His hat did little if anything to hide it. His face also looked a little beat up, though there weren't any distinguishing features you could point out, though he did have that kind of badly shaven facial scruff that could easily be mistaken for sandpaper. From the looks of it, you could have sanded a while block of oak on his face. Also, despite all clothes and the obvious beer gut he had, you could tell he was packing some muscle. Overall, he wasn't exactly easy on the eye, and if you were going to be completely honest, kind of intimidating.
"Who the f*ck are you?" you ask him while trying your best not to look scared even though you are. Not that you could blame yourself for being scared in a situation like this. "And where the hell am I?"
"You're on a ship," the ship's captain responded in a tone that might as well have screamed 'Isn't it f*cking obvious!' "Well at least a simple fishing barge by all accounts?"
"Okay..." you say to him. Obviously you aren't gonna get any answers about that. "What am I doing here?"
"You came bargin' into our peaceful little f*ckin' town askin' all the wrong questions, Jason," he replies. Wait, he knows your name. How the f*ck does he know your name? "All the wrong questions, boy." At that, the look on his face changes to one that could pretty much stab you with it's gaze. It was... kind of freaking you out a little now. Seriously, what the hell was this guy's deal?
"I... I was just passing through," you say to him hoping that will clear the air, even though the know the changes of that happening are kind of slim. "I was just trying to get back home and I got tired so I-"
"Decided to do some snooping around the down of Dunwich eh?" The ship's captain says before you can even finish. Wait, Dunwich. That was what the guy from before said to you before he kicked you in the face.
"What?" is all you can say.
"Decided to stick your nose into the business of others eh?" The ship's captain continues as she slowly starts walking towards you. Since you're already up against the railing between you and the water, you really have no place to go. "Diggin' up some dirt on the ole Sons of Dunwich, aren't ya?" Right as he finishes that last word, he stops right in front of you. "Which brings me to my next question." Right as those words leave his mouth, he pulls out, no joke, a f*cking 44 magnum revolver from his coat and presses it against your forehead. "Which one of those sorry sons of bitches are ya workin' for!?" At this point, any resistance you might have put up to hide the fact that you were legitimately terrified right now has suddenly evaporated as you start trembling.
"W-who?" is literally all you can say.
"The Deep Ones, The Cult of Cthulhu, the Yith," the ship's captain says as he pushes the barrel of his gun farther into your forehead, which cause you to back up into the railing so much you almost fall overboard. "Or perhaps you are in it deep, boy, real deep, like workin’ for the Man in Black? Who sent you to Dunwich, boy?!" He screams as he pushes you within less than a millimeter of falling over the edge.
"I came through here looking for my great grandfather because mentioned some place like this in a diary of his!" You scream out in terror. If the truth wasn't going to make him stop, then at this point, you don't know what will. "It was from eight decades ago, something about the some kind of monstrous horror and a family of inbred hillbillies. I got curious was all and was hoping to find out more about him. I just wanted to know who he was as a person!" You scream out at the top of your lungs as you close your eyes. Though now that you've actually said it, you have to question why you just told him what you did. There's no way in hell he's gonna believe that. What with him screaming at you about old horror stories from the 1920's. You never thought it would end like this. Hell, you're not even out of college. Why did it have to end so early. Still, it's not like there is anything you can do about it now. You keep your eyes shut and wait for the end.
Much to your surprise however, it doesn't come, he doesn't say a word, and he doesn't pull the trigger. In fact, after a few moments, you feel him pull the gun away from your head. When you open your eyes again, you see the ship's captain looking right at you with what, to you, looks like some kind of smug grin on his face.
"That’s what I was hopin’ you’d say, boy," he says as he steps back away from you and puts the gun back in his jacket. "And you best be countin’ yer f*ckin’ blessings with that one, yah sop." He says as turns around and walks back towards the cabin. Once he reaches it, he turns back around to face you and leans back against the cabin with his arms crossed. The same smug grin still adorned his face. The only thing you can do right now is stand there and not say anything.
After a few moments, your legs give out and you fall to the floor, upon which you lean back against the railing and let out the breath you didn't even realize you'd been holding in this whole time. You sit there against the edge of the ship for a moment and take a few deep breaths. Too much happened in too short a time, it was way to much for you to take. Though you do take a moment to thank whatever god let you live through this for the fact that your pants are still dry.
"It's okay, take yer time," the ship's captain says to you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Not everyone can be tough." Right as he says that, he pulls out one and lights it. You just stay right where you are for a few more moments before you grab the railing and start pulling yourself back up.
"So..." you say once you get back on your feet. "What now?"
"That means we don't have to kill ya, fer starters," the ship's captain replies as pulls away his cigarette and lets out a puff of smoke before putting it back.
'Great, that's a comforting though,' you can't help but think to yourself. "Thanks," is all you reply.
"Believe me, we've done worse fer lesser offenses," he says to you before he takes a long drag from his cigarette. The tone of his voice suggesting that he not only meant what he said, but that he didn't really give a damn about it.
"Who are you?" You finally ask after a few more moments of silence. Since he isn't trying to kill you now, you figure you might as well ask.
"The name's Silas," the ship's captain responds as he drops his finished cigarette to the ground and steps on it. You can't help but notice just how quickly he finished it. "Silas Bishop the third. And the f*ckin' brute that kicked you in the face earlier is my first mate Isaac." As those words leave his mouth, you suddenly hear the sound of footsteps coming from behind the cabin. Judging by the sound of them, the one who carried them was definitely much larger than Silas. It's at that point that you then look to the right of where Silas is standing and see the giant guy who kicked you in the face earlier step out from behind the cabin and stand right next to him. You couldn't help but shake a bit more again. This guy could have eaten you for breakfast if he wanted, and by the look on his face, he was still pissed off. "Well...." Silas suddenly said to him in a tone of voice that he could have whacked him upside the head with. "What are ya waitin' fer Isaac? Apologize." At that, you watch the giant man look down at Silas, who doesn't let go of his smug grin, then back at you. After a few more moments of terrifying (for you at least) silence, he finally speaks.
"I'm sorry," he says to you.
"Good," Silas says to him, seeming satisfied. "Now go the f*ck away." And with that, you watch as the giant man just turns around and walks back around the cabin where he came from. With him gone, Silas directs his attention back at you. The same smug grin still on his face. You just keep looking back at him for the next few moments it takes you to stop shaking again.
"All right..." You say after you've calmed back down. With that out of the way, you feel as if it's about time you started asking some questions. "Why'd you bring me here?"
"Well," Silas began after he threw his second cigarette away. Again, he finished it quicker than he probably should have. "After we made sure you weren't a threat, we went through yer stuff and found this." At that, he then pulls something out of his pocket and throws it towards you. It lands just a few inches from your feet. When you pick it up, you can't help but feel your eyes widen to the edge of your eyeballs. It's your passport. "Jason Morgan, great-grandson of the first Son of Dunwich, Francis Morgan. Am I right?"
"You..." you couldn't even answer that. How in all the levels of hell could he have possibly known who your great grandfather was? "You knew him? You knew my grandpa?"
"Not me personally, no," Silas replies as he pulls out another cigarette. "But my granddad did. In fact they served together."
"Served, wait." They mentioned the Sons of Dunwich twice now. Just who in the hell were they and what do they have to do with your great grandfather? "Who are the Sons of Dunwich?" Silas just remains silent at that as he takes another long drag from his cigarette. After a few long moments of silence though, he finally answers.
"Ever heard of Howard Philips Lovecraft and August Derleth?"
"Yeah," you reply. At least one of those names you recognize, though it's not like it's hard to know who H.P. Lovecraft is. Hell, mostly people today know who Cthulhu is at least. Silas however, just laughs a bit at your response.
"Well, lets just say that every scrap of writing those two ever put to paper, every tiny detail was accurate and well... Lets just say, not entirely entirely works of the imagination." That... that was not the answer you were expecting. Given how terrified you were up until this point, you tried to fight it, but you just couldn't help it. You had to laugh. You do your best to hold it back though. Despite everything, something still tells you that laughing to this guy's face will just make him angry again.
"You really expect me to believe that?" you say to him.
"Your great granddad was Francis Morgan, who went to Dunwich, right?" Silas replies with a completely straight face.
"Dunwich doesn't exist."
"Because we made it that way," Silas says as he drops his third cigarette to the ground and steps on it again. You would notice how he finished it quickly again, but you have to stop right there for a moment. You're not stupid. You know that there is no way in hell that Dunwich is a real place. It's just a made up town in the story The Dunwich Horror. Still, even if it was.
"Who are the Sons of Dunwich?" you ask him again, since he really answer your question.
"To put it simply," Silas begins. "We are exterminators, researchers, protectors, practitioners of the dark arts, and above all else, the reason human beings are at the top of the world chain and not at the bottom." He stops right after that and doesn't say anything else. You don't say anything either. You just can't bring yourself to believe that there is any way in hell this guy can be serious. After a few moments though, he lets out a loud sigh and looses the smug grin he was wearing this whole time before taking out another cigarette. "Take a seat boy," he continues. "This is gonna take a while."
"I'd rather stand," you say to him.
"Whatever, makes no difference to me," he says as he lights up his fourth cigarette. He takes a few moments to take a long drag from it before blowing out another puff of smoke. "After that incident in Dunwich, your great-grandfather Francis, along with his two friends and fellow professors Henry Armitage and Warren Rice, returned to Arkham only to realize several things. Namely, that those inbred hillbillies, the Whateleys, were far from the only horrors at our world's doorstep. In fact, they weren't even the tip of the iceberg so to say, just lowly pawns. They realized that these horrors would try again sooner or later, and worse still, that they weren't gonna stop. As long as they existed, they would keep tryin again and again until they had wiped us all from the earth like the insects we were to them." He paused for another moment after that to take another long drag from his cigarette. You just kept your mouth shut.
"So," he continued. "Since the three of them were the only ones who figured out a way to fight them, they set about creating a 'secret society' if you will, or like minded men and women to wage war against the dark forces that wanted to eat us for a snack. Of course, the students at ole Miskatonic were more than a little hesitant to join, so they went back to the only place they knew they could find volunteers more than willing to fight the horrors at our world's doorstep. They returned to Dunwich with those willing to join them, started the appropriately named Sons of Dunwich." He stopped for another moment to drop his cigarette to the ground. "Unfortunately, Henry Armitage died before he could see all of this fully realized. Poor bastard was already old and very sick before he went to Dunwich, and seein' Wilbur Whateley and his brother up close and in the flesh didn't really help matters. As much as they hated to see him go. Rice and Morgan continued on with out him, since they knew it was what he would have wanted. That's why only the two of them are considered the original Sons of Dunwich." He paused for another moment after that, as if he were remembering something long ago.
"For a while things seemed to work out pretty well for them. Since Rice had been at Miskatonic for longer than Morgan, he had access to a bit more resources and contacts than Morgan did, and he used these to get into contact with some interesting people. Turned out some of their fellow professors at Miskatonic had had some kind of firsthand encounters with, shall we say, otherworldly beings, but for obvious reasons, chose to keep quiet about them. Albert Wilmarth and Wingate Peaslee were quick to join when they heard about us and what we did. With some help, Rice even got into contact with a man named Marinus Bicknell Willett, who showed them the site where the late Joseph Curwen did some of his works. Poor fool could never find the entrance to the catacombs himself, but with their help, they managed to find it, get in, and destroy it. It was one of our first successful raids." He paused for another moment to take out and light another cigarette. At this point, you've lost count of just how many he's smoked.
"Not long afterwards, with the help of their creative minds, Dr. Willet's notes on Joseph Curwen, what they learned from some of Curwen's old books, and Rice's own knowledge of classical languages, as well as the knowledge they still had from the Dunwich incident, they managed to come up with a way to fight the horrors. A way to fight them in a way they understood. A way that actually hurt them."
"What about my great grandfather?" you ask him before he can say anything else. As ludicrous as all of this sounds to you, you kind of want to know his involvement in this. The mere mention of his name however, just caused Silas to laugh a bit.
"Your great grandfather," he replies after he stops laughing. "Your great grandfather was an entirely different monster from Rice. Unlike him and Armitage, he was young. Sure, he may have been in his late 40's by the time he founded the Sons of Dunwich, but Armitage was already well past 80 and Rice was pushin' 70, so compared to them, he was young. Because of that, he went on led many missions himself. Hell, we all remember his raid on Innsmouth-"
"Wait, what!?" you say as you mentally freeze for a moment and your eyes threaten to burst out of your skull. Did you hear that right? A raid on Innsmouth. Your great-grandfather... raided a town? The reaction on Silas' face slowly started to change back into the smug grin he wore before as he saw the look on your face.
"Oh, you don't know about that do you? Not that surprising really. I doubt it's in that diary you have. Let me guess, the diary you have stops right after the Dunwich entry." He stops after that and just looks at you, as if expecting an answer. After a few moments, you just nod your head. How could he have possibly known that? You didn't bring the diary with you, and there's certainly no other way he could have read it. Not that you know of at least. "Thought so. Anyway, it started after your great-grandfather got word of a man in Arkham who shot his best friend in the head. I believe his name was Daniel Upton. Not that it matters. At first it didn't seem like much to us, but then he heard about how his friend was supposedly 'possessed' by the spirit of his father in law. Suddenly your great-grandfather was very interested, and with the help of Rice arranged a little personalized visit with this man. Professor Wingate Peaslee was quite interested in this case as well, what with his dad bein' possessed by a Yith."
"Yith?" you say before he can continue. The name seems to ring a bell somehow.
"Yeah, the great race of the Yith." Silas says as he blew out another puff of smoke. Though you're not sure now if it's the same cigarette or a different one. "From The Shadow Out Of Time. A race of beings that existed millions of years in the past, but know how to project their minds into the future. His dad got possessed by one of 'em when Wingate was but a lad, and since then he'd devoted himself to helpin' his dad find 'em. Hell, the only reason he and Dr. Wilmarth joined with us was cause we had information that they needed." He paused for another moment to let out another puff of smoke. "But we're gettin off track here aren't we. He and your great-granddad went to meet Mr. Upton, and after some convincing that they were on his side, he told them everything he knew. He told them about how his best friend got married to some girl named Asenath and how her father's spirit was possessin' her and how he was usin' her to try and possess his best friend, and that he shot him cause he had succeeded. After Peaslee, bein' a doctor and psychology and our resident 'possession expert' determined that he was both sane and not possessed himself. He told them that the body had to be cremated, lest the spirit of the bastard that possessed his friend survive. He took care of the first part, which was makin' him dead, but was afraid that since he'd been locked up and all, he couldn't take care of the second part, which was kind of essential. Morgan and Peaslee took care of that, and your great-granddad make absolutely sure that the spirit of that bastard was 100% dead." That caused you to freeze up a little. You couldn't really imagine your great-grandfather killing anybody. "That was that for that job, but one of the other things that Upton told 'em was about where the spirit of this bastard hailed from, a run down town on the coast near Ipswitch and Rowley called Innsmouth, where, lets just say more sinister things were happenin'."
"Wha-" you're about to say before he interrupts you.
"If you want the full story of what was goin' on there, read The Shadow Over Innsmouth. It pretty much covers everything you need to know. What I will tell you though, is that when your great granddad went there and saw what they were doin, well.... Let's just say, he didn't like it. At all..." He paused for another moment to let out another puff of smoke. "To make a long, complicated, and really, REALLY strange story short, he gathered up as many of us as he could, went into Innsmouth, killed every single fish person there he could find livin' there and burned the town to the ground." That.... that might as well have been a brick to the face for you. You're pretty sure that you felt your heart stop beating for several seconds. That was how much you didn't want to believe him. No way did your great-grandfather slaughter and entire town. He's not that kind of person.... At least.... as far as you know... and all you know.... is what you read in his diary... the one that stops before all of this was supposedly happening. "Took us for friggin ever, but we eventually found Y'ha-nthlei and blew it to kingdom f*ckin' come. Never did find Robert Olmstead though, though if you ask me, he's probably sleepin with the rest of the fishes down there." Part of you wants to ask him just who the hell that is, but you can't bring yourself to really care about that. You're still hung up on the whole 'your great-grandfather raided an entire town and killed everyone in it' thing. There was no possible way that could be true. You knew it.
"After that," Silas continued since you were saying anything. "They spent years turning over every corner of the globe huntin down every horror they could find and sendin' them to the howlin' abyss where they belonged." You were still listening to him, but you still couldn't let go of what he said before, it still hung in your head. "They found Francis Wayland Thurston hidin out somewhere Rhode Island. Took some convincin' but eventually, he handed over all his findin's on the cults of Cthulhu to 'em. In return we promised him protection from them. Good decision on his part, since they were scowerin' the corners of the globe just like we were lookin for 'im. Took us a while, but we eventually took care of 'em. Hell, we still got an entire regiment lookin' for the city of R'lyeh." He paused for another moment after that to drop his cigarette to the ground with all the others. He didn't take out another one this time.
"Dr. Wilmarth eventually found that race of otherworldly bein's he was lookin' fer, a race of crab like things called the Mi-Go." He paused for a moment after he said that and made a look on his face like he was about to throw up, but held it back. "They keep sayin' they're fungai, but I don't care what they say, they still look like overgrown crabs to me. Anyway, thanks to him, we now have something of a diplomatic relationship with them, which essentially amounts to 'we don't bother them, they don't bother us.' Because of that, part of our job is now protectin' them in order to make sure that nobody else finds out about em. Not that it makes much of a difference though, they were doin' just fine before we got to 'em." He paused for another moment to look at the ground.
"We never did find that street that Erich Zann lived on, and Wingate Peaslee never did find the Yith. They always somehow managed to elude us. Some of us thought it was cause they knew that we knew about them. If you ask me though, I say good riddance to them. That race of overgrown plants can go die for all I care. They never cared anything for us humans, why should we do anythin' for them." He seemed pretty pissed, and the look on his face pretty much confirmed this for you as he looked back up at you. "And before you say anything, we refuse to call them 'The Great Race,' to us they are just the Yith. There's nothing great about them and there never will be." You didn't say anything. You figured it'd be best to remain silent on this one. If you had to guess, and if you believed anything he was saying, you'd guess that relationships with the Yith have not been the best for them. After a few moments though, Silas took in a deep breath and calmed himself down, and after another moment or so he resumed talking.
"And we've been doin this ever since. Even after Miskatonic was shut down thanks to that idiot Herbert West, we're still going strong. If you ever hear about any killin's in some backwater towns' that's usually us. Even after so many years there's still quite a few idiots out there who try to bring those f*ckers back, and it's our job to deal with 'em. As long as we exist, those f*ckin' things are never comin' back." he says as the smug grin returns to his face and he looks right at you. You're honestly.... there aren't any words you know of in the english language that can accurately describe what you are feeling right now.
Not only did this guy just tell you that your great-grandfather was responsible for a massive raid on a town you've never heard of, a murder, and possibly more, but that pretty much every story ever written by H.P Lovecraft is true and these guys have been dealing with them for years. You weren't an idiot, or at the very least, you certainly weren't foolish enough to believe any of this. Silas just keeps his gaze on you and his smug grin on his face, as if expecting you to say something. Eventually though, you do. You say the obvious.
"You really expect me to believe any of that?" you say to him.
"No," is all Silas replies.
"Then why are you even telling me this at all?" you ask.
"Because you have to believe it," is all he says back to you, as if expecting that you would buy it.
"Even if I wanted to," you began, there was no way you were about to let yourself get convinced that easily. "What about H.P. Lovecraft? Even if my great-grandfather was the same Francis Morgan that went to Dunwich, even if all this stuff you say happened is true, what about him? He still existed. How does he fit into all of this?" Silas didn't respond for several moments, he just kept staring at you. You thought you had him with that one, there wasn't going to be a way he could answer that. Unfortunately for you however, you see his face twitch a little bit at first before he looks down towards the floor. At first he looks like he's trying to hold back something, but then suddenly he throws his head back against the cabin and starts laughing like he just heard the funniest joke in the world.
"Of all the sons in the Morgan line I get the brain damaged one," he says as he slowly comes back to his senses, though he's still obviously fighting back copious amounts of laughter. Did he seriously just say that about you? Did he seriously just call you stupid? This guy, the one whose been telling you that at least 90% of the H.P. Lovecraft stories are true and he's part of a secret society that's been fighting them for the past several decades... One that was started by your great-grandfather. You want to say something, you want to call this guy on his bluff, hell, you want to punch him in the face, but you restrain yourself. It takes every ounce of willpower you have, but you don't say anything, and you don't move. This guy already tried to kill you once, and given the situation you're still in, punching him probably would not be a good idea.
After a few moments he stops completely and sees the look on your face. The look on his is still the same smug grin as before, though his time it seems a little wider, no doubt because of the immense amount of amusement he must be feeling. He doesn't say anything, he just stares at you for several moments, as if expecting you to make a comeback. Against all of your not so better judgement however, you don't. Afterwards, when he no doubt sees that you aren't gonna say anything, instead of saying anything, he just starts walking towards you.
You just stay right where you are and don't move. Silas just keeps on walking towards you and pulls out, of all things, a notepad and a pen from his jacket pocket. He stops just a few feet in front of you. Not close enough to touch you, but close enough so that you could see the features on his face a little better. Not that you wanted to. Anyway, without waiting for any kind of response or reaction from you, he uncaps the pen and scribbles something on the notepad. Afterwards, he caps the pen again and turns the notepad so that you could see it. On it was a single name.
Randolph Carter
"Tell me, does this name look familiar to ya lad?" he asks you. You just stare at the notepad, confused. The name doesn't ring a bell. You don't know anyone named.... wait. He was talking about Lovecraft...
"Yeah," you reply. "He's a character in some of Lovecraft's stories." God why are you even giving dignity to this?
"Which ones?" Silas then asks, not taking his eyes off of you.
"Umm..." you say for a moment as you try to collect your thoughts. You've read Lovecraft before, you should know this. "The Statement of Randolph Carter, The Unnameable, The Silver Key, and-"
"The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath," Silas says before you can finish. Before you can say anything else though, he takes the notepad away again and scribbles something else on it. When he shows you it again, there's a second name below Carter's.
Howard Philips Lovecraft
"Look at the two names and tell me what you see," Silas says as he holds the notepad up to you. You just stare back at it for a few moments. Randolph Carter. Howard Philips Lovecraft. One was a character, and one was the author. You don't really see anything else. While that would be what you would tell somebody normally, you don't think that's the answer this guy wants, and you're not about to tell him that you don't know. You don't really want to find out how well that would go. If there is something else on the page, it's escaping you.
After a few moments, Silas lets out an obviously frustrated sigh and takes the notepad away again. Guess he could see that you obviously didn't know. He takes his pen and scribble something else on it. After a second, he shows you the notepad again and you see the names again. When you see the names again, you can't help but feel yourself get knocked back by the strongest sense of disbelief you've felt since this conversation began as it suddenly hits you.
Randolph Carter
Howard Philips Lovecraft
"Randolph Carter is Lovecraft lad," Silas says to you as he closes the notepad and puts it back in his jacket pocket. "The name's an anagram."
"How is-" you're about to say but Silas cuts you off.
"After a number of years of searchin' the globe, we eventually discovered another one, so to say." He pauses for a moment at that. You're pretty sure you know what he's about to say, but you can't bring yourself to believe it. "The Dreamlands." Yeah, he definitely said it. "Discovered it by accident really. Some of the later members kept havin' reoccurin' dreams of that place, and it was only after they bit it that Morgan and Rice realized that it wasn't only connected to the horrors they were fightin', but that many of 'em resided there." He paused for another moment after that to take a deep breath. You just held yours. "So, naturally, us bein' us, we had to go in and see it for ourselves, and Morgan and Rice, well, they knew they had their work cut out for 'em when they started their little society, but they had no idea just how right they were until they saw that place." He paused for another moment after that and just stared at you. No way was this guy about to convince you that the dreamlands were real. "Soon we had even more things to take care of there than here in the real world, it was almost too much for us to handle. Anyway, during our many, MANY expeditions there, the name Randolph Carter kept popping up, and your great-grandfather-"
"My great-grandfather went into the dreamlands!?" you ask. You had to stop him right there. No way that was true. There was just no way.
"Aye," he said, his expression unchanged. "I said that your great-grandfather went on many missions himself. You really thought that they'd be limited to just this world?" You would have burst out laughing right there, but you held your tongue. You almost had to bite it. You were certain doing that would have gotten you killed. "Anyway," Silas continued. "Your great-grandfather, knowing fully well that small details like that could lead to big things, hell, that's what got him to Innsmouth, resolved to find him. Took 'im for f*ckin' ever, seriously lad, you have no idea how hard it is to collect information from the dreamlands, what with you forgettin' everything you knew the second you woke up, being dreams and all, but he eventually found 'im. What he found was, well, not what he expected, to say the least." He stopped for another moment after that to take a breath.
"I know you've read some of his stories lad, but I don't know how much you know about Lovecraft himself or his personal life, but I can assure you that most of what you know is true, up till a point. So you can no doubt imagine your great-grandfather's surprise when he found out that he was the infamous Randolph Carter from the dreamlands." You wanted to say something right there, but you couldn't for the life of you figure out what. "Anyway," he continued. "It took some convincin', and a lot effort on your great-grandfather's part, but eventually, he agreed to help us, since he knew the dreamlands better than any of us ever could have. And help us he did. He helped us on many missions for most of his life. In fact, there aren't any of us who wouldn't say that he was the most valuable asset we ever had. However, he preferred keepin' to himself and spent most of his time in the dreamlands. He claimed that liked it there better than the real world, which wasn't that kind to him, and given the state he was in when they found him, I can't say I blame him. As such, he hardly ever went on any missions himself, and most of his contributions to our cause ended up bein' variations of 'go here and kill this,' he hardly ever went on any expeditions or did any kind of fighting. He relied on us to do all of that for 'im. You could say that he was quite cowardly." He stopped for another moment after that and looked up towards the sky, as if remembering something. The smug grin dropped from his face as he did. You just kept your mouth shut.
"He did go on some missions with us though, both in the real world and the dreamlands. He led us to tomb where his friend Harley Warren disappeared. We never did find him. And he also led us to that dilapidated old house on Meadow Hill where your great-grandfather met and killed that unnameable thing he saw. Didn't put up much of a fight from what I understand. But like I said, he hardly ever went on missions with us and spent most of his time in the dreamlands. Over time, since he'd been helpin' us, your great-grandfather and he became close friends. Morgan found his information valuable and Lovecraft enjoyed his company. He didn't have many people he could really talk to in the real world, so your great-grandfather helped him deal with a lot of issues he was dealin with. Issues, he for obvious reasons, couldn't tell anyone else about. He also from what I understand, kept whinin' about how as he got older, and since he'd been helpin' us, he could no longer enter the dreamlands, which was a problem for him since he spent so much time there. Your great-grandfather however, managed to convince him that that was a good thing, and convinced him of real evil in the horrors that had taken up residence there. It was never originally their's you see. It was ours. They just came in and took it since we weren't fully aware of it." He paused for another moment after that.
"Anyway, after about twenty years of helpin' us, he disappeared. No warning, no note, no information on where he went, he just left. The only thing he took with 'im was an old family heirloom of his."
"The silver key?" you say before he can say anything else. You have no idea what compelled you to say that, but you did. The moment those words reached his ears, Silas looked back down at you, and the smug grin returned to his face.
"You're learnin'," he said, seeming satisfied. "As I was sayin'. The only thing he took with him when he left was his silver key. To this day, none of us know where he went or what he did, but less than a day after he had left, we noticed a change in the dreamlands. They were gone. Not only that, but the influence of the one all the old ones and peons served, the Outer God Azathoth, had diminished completely in both worlds. Given the circumstances, we believe that somehow, some way, he managed to successfully banish Azathoth from both worlds. How he did that is beyond any of us, but he did it. We know he did. Unfortunately, since he, in doin' so, destroyed the dreamlands as they were, we couldn't go back in there to search for 'im. That's okay though. Since then, the humans have subtly began to build new dreamlands free of the influence of the horrors of the old ones. Given that it's been 76 years and we still don't know what happened to 'im, he's most likely dead. If by some miracle of god he isn't, then he more than likely just wants to be left alone. Given all he did for us, the least we could do is grant him that request." He stopped there again as he looked off into the sky again, as if remembering a long lost friend.
Things remain silent between you for several moments. There are many, MANY things you want to say, but you're not even sure what you can say that won't cause this guy to flip out and kill you. Still, at least the obvious question has to be asked. Right as you open your mouth to speak though, he holds up his hand and stops you.
"I know what you're goin' to ask lad. If all that is true, then why and how do we have his writin's, why are they so popular today that everybody reads 'im. That's easy to answer," Silas says as he takes his hand down. "You see, Lovecraft, as you know, was a writer, and some of the things he wrote about were about us. He was fascinated by the things he heard from Morgan, Peaslee, Wilmarth, and of course, Francis Wayland Thurston, and wrote them down in a private journal of his. He thought these stories we so good that he wanted to try to publish them in pulp magazines. This, was an issue with us for a while, for obvious reasons, but the more Morgan, Rice and the others thought about it, the more they realized that, this was exactly what they needed. People needed to know about us and what we did, but they would naturally be terrified if they knew it all was real, so if they believed it wasn't, then well, that solved that issue. So they let Lovecraft try to publish some of the stories he'd written down, the ones they allowed him too of course. However, hardly any of 'em were taken and those that were, weren't that well read or received by others. For us, this was okay though, since it meant that we still got to work in secrecy. However, Lovecraft had another friend. A fellow writer named August Derleth. After the incident in which Lovecraft disappeared, his journal and stories were left with Derlth, and, in honor of his friend, he published the stories himself, and wouldn't you know it, people just couldn't get enough of 'em." He paused for a moment to look right at you, then he stepped closer. Just a bit closer, and leaned in closer to your face. You could practically smell the cigarette smoke from earlier on him.
"Don't you see lad," he continued. "The reason you all know about Lovecraft and the horrors is because we allowed it. So that you could know all about what was at our doorstep so that if the time came, when they returned, you would know what to expect and hopefully, how to deal with it. We let you believe they're just works of fiction so that you can sleep tight in your cozy little bed without the knowledge that just right outside our planet, something is waitin' to devour you and your soul for a snack. Do you get it now lad?" You don't respond. In fact, you don't say anything. After a few moments, Silas back away from you back to where he was before. He didn't say anything either, he was just waiting for you. You knew it, and really, that was it for you.
"Why should I believe any of this?" you ask him, feeling a little bit more confidant now. "How do I know that you aren't insane out of your goddamn mind!?" You regret doing that almost immediately after the words leave your mouth as you watch the expression on Silas' face turn from his normal smug grin to one that was pretty much the epitome of 'I will end you right now.'
"When I was twelve," he began. "I watched as twenty men, friends and family alike, were torn apart from me. Two years later, I watched a f*ckin' shoggoth walk through a dimensional gate for three seconds and my hair became the color it is now. And I have spent more than my share of time searchin' what's left of the dreamlands for any kind of scrap about your granddad."
"What...?" You say as you feel the gut wrenching terror you were feeling before returning with a vengeance.
"Look, I'll make this simple for you," Silas says, his new expression unchanging. "Your great-granddad was named Francis Morgan right?"
"Yes," you answer him, feeling it's best to just play along now. Lest things go terribly, terribly wrong.
"And what was it he taught at university?"
"Archaeology."
"Just like-"
"The one from the story," you say before he can finish, though again, you kind of regret going that. He looks even more pissed now.
"And your great granddad went to a town not on a map. Just like-"
"The one from the story," you say again, though you can't for the life of you imagine why you did. "You're saying that The Dunwich Horror really happened?" You say again, feeling a sudden boost of confidence that wasn't there before. "And that my great-grandfather actually did those things. Is that what you are getting at!?" You scream at him.
"Yes," Silas replies, the look on his face now screaming 'enough of this shit', "And more."
"More?" you can't help but say.
"Your great-granddad fought and organized groups the same race of things that old Wizard and his half-breed freak of a grandkid tried to bring through." He replies.
"And those are the Sons of Dunwich?" you say to him.
"Yes," is all he replies. For a long while between the two of you, there is silence. Despite that though, the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Your heart is beating so fast it feels like it's gonna explode in your chest, and the look Silas is giving you is, even though you don't want to admit it, scaring you.
After what seems like an eternity though, you take a few deep breaths and calm yourself down. Silas doesn't move or as far as you can tell, even breathe. Not that it matters. With that done, your clear your head again and try to take in everything that he just said. Even though, you find it rather difficult. There is still however, one question.
"All right," you say when you find the courage to speak again. This time however, you're not going to go overboard. "What do I have to do with this? I mean yeah, I'm his great grandson. So what?" At that, you watch Silas let out a loud sigh and look off to the side. The expression on his face is no longer angry, it's one you can't place.
"Well," he began. "In the mid 60's, long after Rice died. Your great-granddad left with professor William Dyer for Antarctica chasin' down the last of the old creatures we were fighting, but he wasn't the easiest one to deal with either." He stops for a moment at that to let out another loud sigh. "He was an Outer God, the last one left on this side of the gateway. He had many names, The Black Pharaoh, the God of a Thousand Forms, The Crawling Chaos, The Man in Black, but we preferred to call him by his true name." With that, he turns back to look at you. "Nyarlathotep." Somehow, and you can't explain it. Just hearing that name give you the biggest chill you've ever felt in your life. "And your great-granddad meant to banish him to the howlin' abyss where-"
"Banish?" you say. You had to stop him right there, something wasn't right, and that was saying something. "I thought you said you killed them?" Silas said nothing to you at first, though the expression on his face suddenly became serious again.
"Kill them? No lad. You can't kill them," he says. "Cult of followers, deep ones, mortal servants, we killed plenty of these sure, but the Great Old Ones, they're immortal lad. They're from a plane of existence we can't even begin to imagine lad. The mere concept of mortality is a joke to them. They are immortal, omnipotent, and omnipresent, so they best we could figure out how to do is send them to some place where they can't just will themselves back from. It took Morgan and Rice forever to figure it out, but eventually they did. Some of the members call the void, others call it limbo, but the most common name we have for it is The Howlin' Abyss. We sent them there, and as far as we know, they haven't been able to find a way to break out again. The Great Old Ones are the stuff of nightmares lad, and Nyarlathotep is an Outer God, to them to Great Old Ones are pawns, servants, expendable assets, insects, what we were to them. I want you to get that through your head so that you have an idea of what your great-granddad was goin' up against." he paused for another moment, seemingly to let you take that all in. You don't say a word. "So your great-granddad went to Antarctica to confront and hopefully banish him once and for all. They made landfall. However, when Francis confronted the bastard, somethin' happened and the two of them vanished, and we've not seen or heard from either of 'em since." That one... that one honestly struck you like a ton of bricks. You had to speak again.
"What... then what's in his grave?" you have to ask.
"Nothin'" Silas replies. "Just a tombstone." You can't believe it. You've been to your great-grandfather's grave. You've seen it. How can nothing be there? As much as you want to know about that though, something else is still pressing on your mind.
"Okay..." you say, trying to buy that. "You still haven't answered my question though. What the f*ck does this have to do with me?"
"Bloodline," is all he replies. "Since you share his blood, you can help us complete his final work."
"Which is?" you ask, though you have a feeling you already know what the answer is.
"Look," he begins. "We know that something must have happened to Francis on the ice, and that means his work is unfinished. We need you to close the gate for good and finally banish that Elder son of a bitch to the never from whence he came." Okay, that was it for you.
"WHAT!?" you screamed. You couldn't help but scream at that. "Okay, even if I wanted to, what makes you think I even could do anything like that!?" you yell in his face.
"Can you read Latin?" he asks.
"Y..." you're about to answer, but you pause for a moment. Yeah, you studied Latin in school, but you're not sure if you should tell him or not, but then again, keeping it from him probably does not seem like the best option now. "Yes."
"Can you speak it?" he asks. That one, admittedly, was a bit more difficult for you to answer.
"Yes," you say after what seems like several minutes.
"Good enough," Silas says before he reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a ratty looking journal and then shoves it right in your chest. You grab it just as he pulls his hand away. You can practically feel it mold onto you in your hand. "Start reading," he says as he turns around and starts walking back towards the cabin. "It's going to be a long boat ride."
"What if I refuse?" you ask before he's even halfway there. The moment those words reach his ears, he stops and answers "I slit yer throat, tie a cinderblock to both yer legs and throw ya' overboard like nothin' happened at all." And now, when those words hit your ears, the the terror you were feeling before is nothing compared to what you are feeling now. You feel like you might just pass out here, maybe jump over the edge and try to make a break for it, but... for some reason, you couldn't help but laugh.
"You... you'd really kill me?" you say to him. "You'd really kill Francis Morgan's great-grandson?" That was it right there, it made no sense to you. He told you who he was, who they were, and why they thought you were important, and you definitely are Francis Morgan's great-grandson, there's no doubt about that, and they know it. So how can he kill you so easily? Silas just stays where he is for several moments with back to you. When those moments are up however, he turns around and walks back towards you like he's about to punch you through the floor. You back up against the railing of the boat as he gets closer, but he just keeps coming, and stops right as he gets within an inch of your face.
"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to ya lad," he says. "The difference between the two of you is this." At that, he stops for a moment and takes in a deep breath. "YOU'RE NOT HIM!" He yelled at you so loud that the sound of his voice alone threatened to knock you over the edge of the boat. "SO WE COULD GIVE LESS OF A F*CK ABOUT YOUR ASS! YOU GOT THAT!?" He doesn't even give you a moment to respond. "Good." With that, he turns around and storms back towards the cabin, upon which he walks around it, into the shadows and disappears.
You just stand there for several minutes before you fall to your knees and lean back against the edge of the boat again.
That was it. That was what happened the last night you spent on earth before you woke up in Equestria. You never did help them finish your great-grandfather's work. You never even got to read that ratty old journal because the moment you went to sleep, Twilight had seemingly teleported you to Equestria.
That was it.
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so if HP Lovecraft is real, does that mean I can't say Hastur?
Oh, Fuck.
With all this talk about HP Lovecraft, all I can think of is...
1d4chan.org/images/thumb/b/b1/Old_Man_Henderson.jpg/250px-Old_Man_Henderson.jpg
*Reads the chapter*
Well,
http://static.fjcdn.com/gifs/The+plot+thickens+.+A+very+bold+move+indeed_3f86e0_4788290.gif
... I'll see myself out...
Good. Popeye there was a prick. F*ck him and his buddy Bluto.
Bull. There is no v in Randolph carter.