Archive 196 HP Lovecraft

a cousin. And I can't recall the old gal's name, but let's call her Myrtle. Myrtle was walking out under some trees and a pair of coach whips snakes. Those are black racers, and they probably have other names. They drop from the tree and one encircled each of Myrtle's arms. The snakes bit her and constricted so strongly that a male relative, I think his name was Uncle Jim, had to sever the heads of the snakes to force them

to relinquish their grips. From then on, each season, when coach whips shed their skin, Myrtle's skin would peel along her arms where the snakes had attached themselves. When I was in my teens, a pair of the same breed of shiny black reptiles took up residence under our house. My mother knew they were non venomous, but was having none of it. She was typically a very gentle person,

especially toward elders, children, and animals. However, because of the old family tale, she was terrified of this particular breed of snake. As I was about to step out the door, one of them raced out in front under the house near the front porch, in hot pursuit of a toad. I ran back in to fetch my shotgun and I got back to the porch around the same time as a snake. It had missed its last meal, but paused to raise its head, likely at my noise. The shot

severed the thing's head. The snake's mate got into a red oak tree in the backyard, and that one had startled my mother. I again took up my shotgun while she pointed out where the equally startled snake had fled to the branches. The shot killed that one, but its death grip and some handy branches left it high in the tree. Well. I didn't care. It was summer and I was prone to be sunburned, and I went inside.

I was recovering from one of the second degree blisters on my chest and shoulders and back at the time when I fired the kick from the twelve gates slammed into the pocket of my right shoulder. It removed the top layer of flesh in the shape of the butt of the shotgun, and it hurt noticeably. But in the end I'd been peeling like Myrtle supposedly was. Unfortunately it did not become a seasonal event. I'd finally learned to

avoid the son. Okay. The next one of his tales is called Faye Lights Faye is I think it's a Celtic word for fairy. My mother related this story as her grandmother Campbell and Pearl had told her. I heard it from my mother Eloise and Pearl. When my mother was about three years old, around nineteen thirty, she became deathly ill with diphtheria. Her mother, my Grandma Pearl, and her grandmother, great Grandma Sarah Campbell, stayed up with her

when the fever reached a critical point. Grandma Campbell was an herbalist in a country doctor and at the time, all the other measures and available remedies exhausted, all they could do was bathe her in cool water and give her SIPs of water. They lived in a very small house or cabin, and there were only a few windows, and they had my mother and little Eloise on a bed near one of the windows, to do everything they

could to cool her fierce temperature. They'd all be giving up hope in the wee hours of the morning when a light appeared in the window above Eloise. The light was a blue and white orb and it hovered for a moment and then traveled to each window, clearly orbiting the little home. After the third orbit, the light again paused at Eloise's window, and then neither winked out or sped away from the window so quickly as to appear

like it did. Pearl described it as when you turn off the TV and the little light shrinks down to that one little point and then it's gone. Those were the days of TV sets with picture tubs. The light was the last visual bit as the tube cooled. When the light was gone, little Eloise's fever broke, and by dawn she was drinking cups of water and was able

to eat. A little maul had a tough life of work in raising her children, her siblings first and then her own, and she managed to do it all with a grin and genuine love for all of her charges. She had her own light about her and could calm the most stressful situation and see with absolute clarity. Though she typically withheld advice and allowed us to make our own stumbles. Maybe it's in my mind, but when I look back at our regular conversation, I recall the times

that she bit back her instinctive comments. Perhaps she didn't feel worthy of giving advice. She was brilliant, but other folks had convinced her otherwise. Or maybe she feared that knowing the outcome would be like cheating. This short tale is called the Original Golden Globes. Dad used to tell us about a neighbor in Carmona, Texas who had a

talent for finding gold nuggets and old coins. Dad was born in nineteen twenty four, and I never asked whether this was a story from one of his folks or what he'd heard directly, But either way, it's had time to grow some moss. It may have come from his grandparents, who lived in Stryker, Texas. The man who was the subject of the tales would go off into the woods, particularly the piney creek bottoms, and he would emerge with gold, usually a small nugget, sometimes a small coin, invariably worn

and of no clear providence. When asked where he'd gotten the gold, the man would say that he followed the lights and where they paused and then winked out, he'd dig and immediately find the treasure. The man was never wealthy. He didn't produce the gold often enough to do more than live comfortably. He did not have to work more than rural living required at the time, and spent most of his time hunting and fishing and cracking out stories.

Dad said that many people tried unsuccessfully to track the man when he'd slip off into the woods to look for the lights. No one else saw the lights, and speculation was that the man had either discovered or stolen a small hoarde and visited it from time to time to withdraw what was needed. This next tale is called Man's Stories. My buddy Man told me this story in the fall of twenty twenty two. He was ninety two

then and a Korean War veteran. He's ninety three and he's still going better than me at the age of fifty nine. He got the nickname Man when he was sixteen and a fellow had hired Man and a buddy to remove some armadillos from near his home. Man took hold of the creature's tailed and pulled while his buddy held the toastsac Man eventually yanked up the critter and tucked it away in the sack, and the temporary employer proclaimed that only a real man could do that without

getting a scratch. Man is a wealth of information, and he shared several tales of my mother's family who lived in Groveton, Texas. He used to deliver groceries to my grandma Pearl back in the nineteen forties. And his favorite tale other than the ones about the Moon Mullikan, also a contemporary of my dad, is about Bud and Carol and the coon Dog. Bud had an exceptional blue hound. An acquaintance from Houston moved from the area for work and offered Bud a trade he take the dog for

his girlfriend, Carol. Bud readily agreed, and he and Carol hit it off immediately. It was the start of a long term marriage founded on love at first sight. About a month after the trade, the acquaintance had to move back to the city, and he offered to return the hound to Bud, and Bud told him, I'll take the dog, but you ain't getting my gal. The city dude was happy to get back to town and hire pay and Bud and Carol and Blue settled down in their own

Blue Heaven. Now, Carol was from Wisconsin or Illinois or one of those Yankee states, and Man would say, signs vitriol simply his information. All she wanted was an old Texas cowboy, and that's what Bud was. She was exotic as far as Bud was concerned, and they were both small stature like a matched pair. Okay, the next story is called one Other Story because he earned it. Like most combat veterans, Man doesn't speak much about the gory parts of war, though his definition of trauma is different

than the current one. He spoke about an incident at the end of the fighting. Everyone was frozen in place, looking at the enemy, ready for the battles to start again, but they didn't. The armistice held, and after a few days he saw a soldier approaching from the enemy lines. He got the man halted and turned out the man was an officer who had been educated in California, and he spoke English. The man offered a bottle of wine and spoke with man in some of the other troops.

They shared the bottle. Of course, man made the officer take the first drink. The officer told them that he'd heard that the piece was true, and he hoped that it was. He wasn't sure if the man was a Korean or a Chinese national, but he concluded with I sure hope the man got back over here. I think that was what he meant by visiting us and offering us wine. I think he said he's hoping he came back to the United States. But anyway, let's move on

to the next story. This is called Bartholomew's Bigfoot. Back in the summer of nineteen ninety, I worked for the sheriff in the People's Republic of Northern Virginia Soviet of Arlington. It was a jail gig from seven pm to seven am, so we had time to visit with our coworkers between rounds and other duties, especially after lights out. I was working the fifth floor Bartholomew. We'd hired on around the same time, so we'd known each other for a few months.

He and I were what the inmates and many of our local coworkers called country asses. He was from central Alabama and I was from East Texas. Bartholomele had a great sense of humor and was always joking with the other members of the shift. He was serious about the job, he'd just liked to have fun, and I wholeheartedly agreed it was the best way to approach life. One night I returned from around during of which all our charges had been asleep or close enough, and we sat and

talked about our lives and our experiences. Because a person may be known as a comedian by his fellows does not mean that he is frivolous of mind or foolish. Bartholomele was certainly no exception. On that night, we'd been talking about monsters, UFOs, and ghosts and hats. I told him about my collection of books on the origins of montsagys and myths. Always found that knowing the origins of vampires and werewolves and Bigfoot and some boggers and lake

monsters and aliens made them more interesting rather than the reverse. Eventually, he looked at me in the eye, and he said, I want to tell you something. Everybody thinks I'm joking when I tell this story, but I'm not, and I'm trusting for you not to laugh at me. I assured him that I understood that he was serious and I would take him at his word as always. He said that there wasn't much to it, but he'd seen a

bigfoot when he was in his teen years. We were both in our early to mid twenties at the time of this telling. He had been out in the woods hunting and he hadn't seen anything all morning. He was perched on a log at the foot of a large tree, and he explained that his family was poor and had to hunt where they could, mostly on the land where they had the owner's permission. He said it got quiet and he started to feel uneasy. He started to look around,

and then he saw it. It was peering from around another large tree, pretty close to him, and it was screened by some of the brush. He said it just watched him, and it didn't move, and it didn't make a sound. I noted that his eyes grew distant as he spun this yarn, and he said it was big. Mikey like nothing else in the woods. He said that he got scared, and he shook some and even considered shooting it. Yet even though it scared him, he just didn't feel like that was the right thing to do.

He brought his gaze back to the present. I didn't know it was some kind of animal or some kind of person, but it felt more like a person, like it was intelligent. He said that he watched for a moment, but when he glanced down at the shotgun and then looked up again, the creature was gone. He said that he too, was soon gone from those woods. We talked a little more about it, and I had no reason to doubt him. Rended him a little, and then I asked him if that was why he moved to the city.

It was an attempt to lighten the mood. But he looked at me with a neutral expression, and he said, yeah, I missed my family, but I can't live out there anymore. I had to hunt until I left home, and food his food, but I stayed out of them woods. Then he lightened up a little and smiled. Now, white people catch enough crap when they tell these stories, And can you imagine what a brother goes through? I couldn't tell nobody,

he said, I knew that. When his accent returned, we were back to a lighter conversation, and it was his turn to make the next round. The Beast in the Cave by H. P. Lovecraft, The horrible conclusion which had been gradually obtruding itself upon my confused and reluctant mind, was now an awful certainty. I was lost, completely, hopelessly lost in the vast and labyrinthine recesses of the mammoth cave.

Turn as I might, in no direction could my straining vision seize on any object capable of serving as my guide post to set me on the outward path. That never more should I behold the blessing of the light of day, or scan the pleasant hills and dales of the beautiful world outside. My reason could no longer entertain the slightest unbelief hope had departed. Yet, indoctrinated as I was by a life of philosophical study, I derived no

small measure of satisfaction from my unimpassioned demeanor. For although I had frequently read of the wild frenzies into which were thrown victims of similar situations, I experienced none of these, but stood quiet as soon as I I clearly realize the loss of my bearings. Nor did the thought that I had probably wandered beyond the utmost limits of an ordinary search cause me to abandon my composure even for

a moment. If I must die, I reflected, then, was this terrible yet majestic cavern as welcome a sepulcher as that which any churchyard might afford, a conception which carried with it more of tranquility than of despair. Starving would prove my ultimate fate. Of this, I was certain some I knew had gone mad under circumstances such as these, But I felt that the sin would not be mine.

My disaster was the result of no fault save my own, since, unbeknown to the guide, I had separated myself from the regular party of sightseers, and, wondering for over an hour in forbidding avenues of the cave, had found myself unable to retrace the devious windings which I had pursued since forsaking my companions. Already my torch had begun to expire, and soon I would be enveloped by the total and

almost palpable blackness of the bowels of the earth. As I stood in the waning, unsteady light, I idly wandered over to the exact circumstances of my coming end. I remembered the accounts which I had heard of the colony of consumptives, who, taking their residence in this gigantic grotto to find health from the apparently salubrious air of the underground world, with its steady, uniform temperature, pure air, and peaceful quiet, had found instead death in strange and ghastly form.

I had seen the sad remains of their ill made cottages as I passed by them with the party, and had I wondered what unnatural influence along sojourn in this immense and silent cavern would exert upon one as healthy and as vigorous as I now. I grimly told myself my opportunity for settling this point had arrived, provided that one of food should not bring me to speedy a

departure from this life. As the last fitful rays of my torch faded into obscurity, I resolved to leave no stone unturned, no possible means of escape neglected, So summoning all the powers possessed in my lungs. I set up a series of loud shoutings in the vain hope of attracting the attention of the Guide by my clamor. Yet as I called, I believed in my heart that my cries were to no purpose, and that my voice, magnified and reflected by the numberless rampart of the black maids

about me, fell upon no ears save my own. All At once, however, my attention was fixed with a start, as I fancied that I heard the sound of soft approaching steps on the rocky floor of the cavern. Was my deliverance about to be accomplished? So soon? Had then all my horrible apprehensions been for naught? And was the Guide having marked my unwarranted absence from the party following my course and seeking me out in this limestone labyrinth.

While these joyful queries arose in my brain, I was on the point of renewing my cries in order that my discovery might come the sooner, when in an instant my delight was turned to horror as I listened for my ever acute ear, now sharpened in even greater degree by the complete silence of the cave bore to my benumbed understanding the unexpected and dreadful knowledge that these footfalls

were not like those of any mortal man. In the unearthly stillness of the subterranean region, the tread of the booted god would have sounded like a series of sharp and incisive blows. These impacts were soft and stealthy, as of the padded paws of some feline. Besides, at times, when I listened carefully, I seemed to trace the falls

of four instead of two feet. I was now convinced that I had, by my cries, aroused and attracted some wild beast, perhaps a mountain lion, which had accidentally strayed within the cave. And perhaps I considered the Almighty had chosen me a swifter and more merciful death than that

of hunger. Yet the instinct of self preservation, never wholly dormant, was stirred in my breast, And though escaped from the oncoming peril, might but spare me for a sterner and more lingering in, I determined never the less to part with my life at as high a price as I could command. Strange as it may seem, my mind conceived of no intent on the part of the vista save

that of hostility. Accordingly, I became very quiet in the hope that the unknown beast wood, in the absence of a guiding sound, lose its direction as had I, and thus passed by me. But this hope was not destined for realization, for the strange footfall steadily advanced, and the animal, evidently having obtained my scent, which, in an atmosphere so absolutely free from all distracting influence as that of a cave,

could doubtless be followed at great distance. Seeing therefore that I must be armed for defense against an uncanny and unseen attack. In the dark, I groped about me the largest of the fragments of rock, which were strewn upon all parts of the floor of the cavern in the vicinity, and grasping one in each hand for immediate use, I awaited the resignation of the inevitable result. Meanwhile, the hideous pattering of the palls drew near. Certainly, the conduct of

the creature was exceedingly strange. Most of the time, the tread seemed to be that of a quadruped walking with a singular lack of unison betwixt hind and four feet, Yet at brief and infrequent intervals, I fancied that but two feet were engaged in the process of locomotion. I wondered what species of animal was to confront me. It must, I thought, be some unfortunate beast who had paid for its curiosity to investigate one of the entrances of the

fearful grotto. With a lifelong confinement. In its interminable recesses, it doubtless obtained as food the eyeless fishsh and bats and rats of the cave, as well as some of the ordinary fish that were wafted in at every fish net of the green River, which communicates in some occult

manner with the waters of the cave. I occupied my terrible vigil with grotesque conjectures of what altercations cave life might have wrought in the physical structure of the beast, remembering the awful appearances ascribed by local tradition to the consumptives who had died after long residence in the cavern. And then I remembered with a start, that even should I succeed in killing my antagonist, I should never behold its form, as my torch had long since been extinct

and I was entirely unprovided with matches. The tension on my brain now became frightful. My disordered fancy conjured up hideous and fearsome shapes from the sinister darkness that surrounded me, and that actually seemed to press upon my body. Nearer and nearer the dreadful footfalls approached. It seemed that I must give vent to a piercing scream. Yet, had I been sufficiently irresolute to attempt such a thing, my voice could scarce have responded. I was petrified and rooted to

the spot. I doubted if my right arm would allow me to hurl its missile at the oncoming thing when the crucial moment should arrive. And now the steady pat pat of the steps was close at hand. Now they were very close. I could hear the labored breathing of the animal, and terror struck as I was, I realized that it must have come from a considerable distance. It

was correspondingly fatigued. Suddenly the spell broke My right hand, guided by my ever trustworthy sin of hearing through with full force the sharp angled bit of limestone which it contained, toward that point in the darkness from which emanated the breathing and pattering and wonderful to relate it nearly reached its goal, for I heard the thing jump, landing at

a distance away where it seemed to pause. Having readjusted my aim, I discharged my second missile, this time most effectively, for with a flood of joy, I listened as the creature fell in what sounded like a complete collapse, and evidently remained prone and unmoving. Almost overpowered by the great relief which rushed over me, I reeled back against the wall. The breathing continued in heavy gasping inhalations and expirations. Whence I realized that I had no more than wounded the creature,

and now all desire to examine the thing ceased. At last, something allied to groundless superstitious fear had entered my brain, and I did not approach the body, nor did I continue to cast stones at it in order to complete the extinction of its life. Instead, I ran at full speed in what was as nearly as I could determine in my frenzied condition the direction from which I had come. Suddenly I heard a sound, or rather a regular succession

of sounds. In another instant they had resolved themselves into a series of sharp metallic clicks. This time there was no doubt it was the Guide. And then I shouted and yelled and screamed. I even shrieked with joy as I beheld the vaulted arches above the faint light, which I knew to be the reflected light of an approaching torch.

I ran to meet the flare, and before I could completely understand what it occurred, I was lying upon the ground at the feet of the Guide, embracing his boots and gibbering despite my boasted reserve, in a most meaningless and idiotic manner, pouring out my terrible story, and at the same time overwhelming my auditor with protestations of gratitude. After a while, I awoke to something like my normal consciousness.

The God had noted my absence upon the arrival of the party at the entrance of the cave, and had, from his own intuitive sense of direction, proceeded to make a thorough canvas of the bypassage just just ahead of where he had last spoken to me, locating my whereabouts

after a quest of about four hours. By the time he had related this to me, I emboldened by his torch, and his company began to reflect upon the strange beast which I had wounded, but a short distance back in the darkness, and suggested that we ascertained by the light's aid what manner of creature was my victim. Accordingly I retraced my steps, this time with the courage born of companionship,

to the scene of my terrible experience. Soon we described a white object upon the floor, an object whiter even than the gleaming limestone itself. Cautiously advancing, we gave vent to a simultaneous projection of wonderment, for of all the unnatural monsters either of us had in our lifetimes beheld, this was in surpassing degree the strangest. It appeared to be an anthropoid ape of large proportions, escape perhaps from

some internment menagerie. Its hair was snow white, a thing due no doubt to bleaching action of a long existence within the inky confines of the cave. But it was also surprisingly thin, being indeed largely absence save on the head, where it was of such a length and abundance that it fell over the shoulders in considerable profusion. The face was turned away from us as the creature lay almost

directly upon it. The inclination of the limbs was very singular, explaining, however, the alternation in their use which I before noted, whereby the beast use sometimes all four, and on other occasions but two for its progress from the tips of the fingers or toes, long nail like claws extended the hands or feet were not prehensile. In fact, I ascribed that to long residence in the cave, which, as I before mentioned, seemed evident from the all pervailing, almost unearthly whiteness so

characteristic of the whole anatomy. No tails seemed to be present. The respiration had now grown feeble, and the God had drawn his pistol with the evident intent of dispatching the creature, when a sudden sound emitted by the latter caused the weapon to fall unused. The sound was of a nature

difficult to describe. It was not like the normal note of any known species of simion, and I wondered if this unnatural quality were not the result of a long, continued and complete silence broken by the sensations produced by the advent of the light, a thing which the beast could not have seen since its first entrance into the cave. The sound, which I might feebly attempt to classify as a kind of deep toned chattering, was faintly continued. All

at once. Fleeting spasms of energy seemed to pass through the frame of the beast, and the poles went through a convulsive motion, and the limbs contracted, and with a jerk, the white body so that its face was turned in our direction. And for a moment I was so struck with horror at the eyes thus revealed that I noted nothing else. They were black, Those eyes, deep jetty black, in hideous contrast to the snow white hair and flesh. Like those of other cave denizens. They were deeply sunken

in their orbits and were entirely destitute of iris. As I looked more closely, I saw that they were set in a face less than that of the average ape, and infinitely more hairy. The nose was quite distinct. As we gazed upon the uncanny sight presented to our vision, the thick lips opened and several sounds issued from them, after which the thing relaxed in death. The god clutched my coat sleeve and trembled so violently that the light

shook fitfully. Cash seeing weird moving shadows on the walls about us, I made no motion, but stood rigidly still, my horrified eyes fixed upon the floor ahead. And then fear left, and wonder and awe, and compassion and reverence succeeded in its place, for the sounds uttered by the stricken figure that lay stretched out on the limestone had told us the awesome truth. The creature I had killed, the strange beast of the unfathomed cave, was, or had at one time been, a man,