The Thing in the Cellar (My own little story) and my love of H.P Lovecraft

Loving Lovecraft

So life gets in the way every so often and the again planned review of Under the Shadow has fallen by the wayside again (I will not promise to make it the next blog entry's topic as I can't seem to keep it!) but in its place is something I hope you will find equally entertaining. 

He looks friendly...

When I was around 14 or 15 a video game for Xbox came out call Call of Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth. I was instantly intrigued a) by the fact that this was touted as a horror game without zombies or ghosts and goblins but instead about unknowable horrors for the depths of space and the ocean, and b) how on earth to pronounce its title (try Cu-thu-lu).

Good luck

When I finally got my hands on the game I was not disappointed. The game was set in the early 1900s, following a private investigator investigating (as private investigators a want to do) the disappearance of a boy in the seaside town of Innsmouth. Naturally when he goes looking for the boy he slowly learns the residents of the town aren't so pleased to see him as an outsider poking around their town, and more disturbingly their decidedly fishy appearance. Without spoiling too much for anyone who goes back to play it (it is on the Steam store) things descend into madness, mayhem and monstrosities. 

Not long after playing the game did I discover that it was based on the writings of the 1800s-early 1900s author, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, H.P Lovecraft. His writing helped create the genre of weird fiction, which straddled numerous genres, most notably for Lovecraft, horror and sci-fi. He did away with the gothic trapping of Poe and Stoker and instead looked away from the castles and graveyards instead to the depths of the cosmos for his horror. His horror focused on the unknown and unknowable, frequently his protagonists would go mad at the sight of his creations. 

And what creations! Lovecraft is responsible for the most likely recognised if not known, much like the fictional entity itself, Cthulhu. Cthulhu is a great ancient god-like being that sleeps under the sea in his city of R'yleh infecting the minds of humans with terrible dreams, whilst cultists worship him in madness. If and when he awakes he will destroy all of mankind, not because he wants to or hates us, simply because he can. Lovecraft created a pantheon of gods and monsters (which has expanded tenfold since his death as authors have added to it as the works of Lovecraft are in the public domain) and nearly all of the gods are equal in their simple disdain and view of humanity: we are but specks of dust in their vast vision. 

Cthulhu 

Lovecraft's work was not particularly well known at the time of writing but his influence on modern culture is immense. Like Cthulhu's tentacles it has invaded movies (Event Horizon, Prometheus [a sci-fi version of Lovecraft's own At the Mountains of Madness which Guillermo Del Toro has been trying to get made for years]), tv (Stranger Things), video games (Dead Space, the aforementioned Dark Corners and the upcoming Call of Cthulhu game), comics (Batman [Arkham Asylum is named after the fictional city Lovecraft set most of his stories], Hellboy), and other authors have taken up the mantle, such as Neil Gaiman, George R.R Martin (check out his short stories and also the Greyjoy banner and tell me what you see) and Stephen King, with King holding Lovecraft in very high esteem. Even the world of boardgames have proven fertile ground for Lovecraft as many of my friends will know, my board game shelf is rife with Lovecraftian horrors (including a Cthulhu plushie).

Davy Jones: a striking resemblance? 

I will probably return to the topic at some point as I think discovering Lovecraft was a cornerstone to my obsession with horror. Much like his doomed protagonists, once you've turned one page of Lovecraft's work you are sucked into the madness, spiralling down further and further until you are consumed by it, and I don't regret a second of it. 

As mentioned above, Lovecraft's works are in the public domain and many authors have taken a bloody stab at making an entry in Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos (the term given to the body of work focused on Lovecraft's deities) and I, as a very amateur unpublished author, have given it a go myself. So, ladies and gentlemen, for you delectation and delight, below is a short story I first wrote for a university creative writing course, which I have tinkered with over the years. It is directly inspired by Lovecraft both in subject and tone and I'm very proud of my creature. Enjoy.

The Thing in the Cellar 

I was woken by the noise in the cellar at around 2am or so. I’m not quite sure of the exact time, the events which followed ring truer in my memory than the time of them. I crawled out of bed bleary eyed and listened in the gloom of my room as the moonlight shone through the curtains. Nothing. A horrible silence. Perhaps I had been dreaming the noise and it awoke me. Thinking just that I walked over to the bedside lamp but no sooner had my fingers clasped the switch did another shuddering bang rock through the house. I jumped at the noise. This was no dream sound. There was something in the house.

I pressed the light on and the dim yellow glow stretched out pushing vainly against the darkness of the room. There was no monster scuttering under the bed in horror at the light. No murderer in the corner. Just me. Shaking slightly, breath ragged, I climbed back into bed hoping the noise would stop just as quickly as it started. How long had it been going before I got up? It was so loud maybe the neighbours had heard. If they had the police would probably have been called for and I'm not sure how I would explain. Getting back into bed the silence took hold again. I pulled the covers up around me tight and scrunched my eyes closed.

Another jarring crash of sound made me leap from my bed in fright. It wasn't going to stop. Still trembling I headed out of my room onto the landing. The banging continued. It sounded like wood cracking and it seemed to be coming from downstairs. I peered over the landing to look down at the ground floor below. It was clear. Nothing stirred below or ran past, darting out of shadows. I continued down the stairs, the damned noise growing louder.

When I reached the ground floor I stood still for a moment trying to make sure I knew exactly where the sound seemed to be coming from. Once more the crashing ripped through the house. It was definitely coming from the basement. I treaded nervously through the silver moonlight cascading through the windowed hallway to the wooden door leading to the cellar. I picked up the brass key in the drawer next to the door. The key easily glided into the lock with a satisfying click that echoed through the hall. As I put my hand to the handle I noticed the noise had not occurred for a good few minutes, much longer than ever before. My shaking hand hung in the air around the handle. Whilst the sound had stopped I had to check whatever was making it before I could sleep soundly otherwise it would torment me all night, the fear of the unknown. Was I safe?

As my hand touched the doorknob there was an inhuman cry from behind the door, a gargled and incoherent stab of grief cutting through the night air before an almighty crack as something on the other side of the door caused the door to shake violently sending me flying to the marbled floor in shock. I scrambled to my feet in fear, backing into a bookcase behind me sending a shout of terror from my quivering lips. The door continued to shake violently. There was something in the cellar, something trying to get out.

The monstrous assault on the door stopped abruptly. I remained on the cold floor with back resting on the bookcase, breathing hard. And then, to my horror, I realised that not only could I hear my ragged breath but also that of another. A breath much lower and Much more animalistic than mine. And coming from behind the door. It sounded sick and full of phlegm and bile.

“Feeeeeeeeed meeeeeee” hissed a voice that at first seemed to be only that belonged to something not of this earth. Yet to my horror I could somehow make out the remnants of humanity amidst this cacophony of grotesque sounds sliding out of the door like tendrils. Yes, there was certainly a strange element of fear and weakness in the voice from beyond the door.

It, whatever it now was, continued to howl these two words long into the night and I maintained a vigil over the door, too scared to go back to my room in case the thing escaped. I continued to stare at the splintered wooden door throughout the night, the voice behind it becoming chant like with its repetition and perversely I felt it may have lulled me to sleep.

When I awoke the monstrous sound had stopped and all that could be heard were the morning sounds of traffic on the roads outside, humming past my house, unaware of the monster within. I pulled myself up off the floor and listened intently to my surroundings. Nothing. I caught a glance of myself in the hallway mirror. I looked truly haunted and hag-ridden, these past few days and nights had taken their toll on me. There were deep bags under my eyes, eyes that flared red, deeply bloodshot. My hair lay in a tangled mess and my mouth was thin and tight in apprehension. I barely recognised this spectre before me.

I stared in dismay at what I had become before the creature's message began to chime in my head. “Feeeeeeed meeeeeee” it had spluttered. Would food quell the creature's nocturnal advances? But what to feed it? And what was it? I staggered in a daze to the kitchen and began to rip open several drawers and cabinets, pulling out odd bits of food. A bit of chicken here, an apple there until I had a bowl full of a messy gloop fit for whatever lay in the cellar.

I made my way back to the basement door, my free hand again hovering over the handle. I could feel my fear rising, bubbling up like a choking tar pit. But no sudden shake of the door came nor demonic rasps of insane hunger piercing my mind. In the silence of the morning I unlocked the door, a click echoing out as I opened it.

I fumbled for the light switch on the wall, when I flicked it on I saw the lights downstairs flicker once and die before turning on fully, occasionally blinking off for a second. The lights showed the grey concrete floor below at the foot of the stairs where I could see a vile liquid frothing bile green and blood red pasted on the floor. Something truly terrible lay so close to me that I dared not take on step down the stairs. Yet I knew I must place this food for the beast or face its wrath again.

Slowly I descended the stairs, my bare feet sticking to the wooden steps, the beams cracking in the silence as I took further steps down. I was about halfway down the stairs when something dashed across the beam of light the bulb had cast at the foot of the stairs. I did not get a good look at it but the shock caused me to jump and drop the bowl of food sending it cascading down the stairs noisily before spilling its contents across the floor and spinning and collapsing with a clang. If the beast did not know I was here before, it did now.

I dropped to my knees in fear, my breath coming out in sharp blasts. Then, an awful sucking sound as if someone who unblocking a drain with a plunger. And then came the ragged breathing intermingled with what sounded like deep and painful cries of agony. Finally out of the gloom and into the light emerged a long and tentacled arm. A human arm. Human apart from the green and bleeding protuberances splicing off at all angles. Some replaced the fingers of the hand some simply seemed to have broken out of the bloodied human skin of the arm. The tendril continued to extend to an inhuman length before brushing the floor about the food like an octopus may latch its tentacles onto prey and then finding some of the left over splodges of food.

When it found the food the hand went berserk and moved at lightning pace grabbing whatever it could and taking it back to what I presumed was the creature's mouth for a disgusting slobbering noise was to be heard. I took this as a sign to leave for the abomination seemed completely distracted. I hurtled up the stairs tripping and banging into the walls not caring for the noise I made just desperate to escape. As I slammed the door behind me I could have sword I heard the thing cry out, in the same melancholic tone “Thaaaaankkkkkkkkk yoooooouuuuuuu”.

That night the beast was silent.

The next day I showered and cleaned myself, satisfied that I had the beast under control. I needed to find out exactly what it was. I retrieved some sleeping tablets from my medicine cabinet and proceeded to mix in the whole bottle with some more food, the same concoction of rubbish as yesterday.

Again I entered the cellar, the light still on yet flickering. Most of the food on the floor had gone, just a few stray crumbs of meat and, disturbingly, a couple of bones totally clean but for some sort of green, thick liquid which dripped onto the floor, echoing throughout the cellar. Yesterday's feeding had made me grow confident and I made my way further down the stairs but did not dare go all the way down yet. I placed the bowl on the bottom stairs, stretching my arms to place it there and made a swift exit.

I waited five hours. Five restless hours. Then I went into my study and recovered my dictaphone and proceeded once more into the cellar. The cellar was not quite as silent as it had been, there was a distinct rumbling emanating from a dark corner. Again the bowl of food was empty and now lay not upon the stairs but upturned in the middle of the floor. I slowly made my way to the cellar floor, the light flashing on and off, the deep, ominous breathing continuing.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs I saw what had happened to Jane. She lay there, pathetic in the corner. Although to call her Jane was really quite unfair to what Jane had been when on that sunny afternoon as she strolled through the park I had smothered her with a chloroform soaked rag and dragged her into this cellar. She had been quite beautiful, for a human, and seemed to almost glow with life. She was perfect.

But now in the corner of this cellar she was a disgusting form, shifting restlessly in a deep slumber. Her face was warped like the most strange Picasso painting, alien boils and tumours ruptured from cheeks and ears, mouth and nose. Her skin had turned a strange luminous green that seemed to constantly shimmer with some sort of liquid. One of her eyes bulged horribly and remained open and bloodshot, spinning around wildly yet unseeing. Upon closer inspection I saw the cause of this: the eyelid had ruptured clean off bar the top and now just dangled like a small flag about the warped eye. The other eye remained closed and human like, totally peaceful.

The rest of her body was ruptures, a cataclysm of human parts and eldritch appendages. Where the new limbs had torn out of the body, black and green blood slowly oozed out whilst the stems themselves gently waved up and down in time with the creature's sleep. Her clothes lay in tatters where her body had ripped itself into new beautiful shapes. Her human form looked so disgusting paired with this new beauty that seemed to be waving at me.

I removed my dictaphone and began to record. “Patient 1 has undergone incredible growth over only a few days with the spores retrieved from the monument at the dig site. It seems that the information in the Necronomicom was correct. The spores from the monument of the Old One truly do contain the DNA of those Gods. As reported in an earlier recording, the spores were injected into Patient 1 five days ago and two nights ago the first signs of transformation occurred. Whilst this evidence was only audio in nature I could detect the presence of the Old One’s voices in Patient 1,”

I strode about the room, my eyes taking in all of the abomination before me. A human was disgusting enough but to have this half-way cancer, an unholy mingling of the divine and pathetic was repellent. I put on some latex gloves as I kneeled before the creature and looked, sickened, into what was left of its face. Before I knew it I had stuck it across the cheek sending it writhing to the floor, neither awake nor asleep but whimpering.

“This is most promising that a change has occurred,” I continued, still crouched over the form, “However the change seemed to come with a violent side effect so I declined to investigate further until the Patient was fully sedated. Now it is clear however that Patient 1 is a failure. The DNA of humans and Old One's does not seem to be a stable mix, the new body growing out of the woman is tearing apart the host body, it is growing too quickly and will no doubt kill the patient before it is fully stable. I will try to resynthesise the spores into a new serum one which acts at a more gradual rate and find a new Patient. Patient 1 will be exterminated.”

I flicked off the dictaphone and placed it into my pocket whilst removing the silencer fitted gun from my pocket and aimed it at the degenerate laying before me. I shot several rounds into the monster's head. The creature’s face flickered with pain, then horror, before most disconcertingly what appeared to be relief. And then the wheezing breath stopped. I exhaled loudly. A failure. But just the start, a small stumble on the way to true greatness and unity with the Old Ones, the true Gods. I left the corpse downstairs to rot as I went up to change and wash myself. I looked at myself in the mirror, clean, friendly and disgustingly human. I grabbed my rag and bottle and headed off to the park to start again.