Mind of a Madman
Guy Thomas

     No doubt you will not take this seriously, coming from the mind of a madman, and no doubt the Arkham Asylum stamp on the paper is of no help. But I assure myself that there is someone out there who will. Just as I assure myself that I’m not mad. And as I assure myself that someone knows as much as I do.
     What do I know? I know things beyond the ken of man. I know things that prove we have got everything concerning a Christian God all wrong. I know things that have brought lesser men to depression and suicide.  I know things concerning the beginning and the end of our world as we know it. I know of an age long past, and one that has yet to begin.
     I know of the Old Ones.
     I’m sure you’re asking yourself, what the devil an “Old One” is. At least, I hope you are. Those of you who aren’t are probably pondering how I came about this knowledge. If it was the same way you did. I did no research, nor any experiments. I simply stumbled upon the truth.
     I suppose I should explain.
     And where to start but the beginning?
     I was born in the city of Arkham, Massachusetts, and lived there until the age of 24. I had recently moved out of my parent’s home, and was in desperate need of money. I had flunked out of Miskatonic University, and had quite a lot of trouble trying to find a new school to finish my education. I do believe that if I had not shown interest in the studies of one of my fellow students, West, I believe his name was, I probably would be a doctor by now. His research amazed me, the reanimation of dead tissue. Like something out of one of the science fiction novels I so loved. I got into a rather large fight with my mother over my educational issues and couldn’t return to her home. I studied the papers, every one of them, searching for some way to earn enough money to live off of and to pay the tuition that would inevitably be with whichever university accepted me. I had lost all hope when I acquired work in the small town of Innsmouth. The job was mysterious, and I wasn’t even told the name of my employer. All I knew was that it paid well, and that’s what I needed. Looking back, I’ve made better decisions.
     Upon my arrival, on the day specified, the town seemed to be deserted. I saw no one but a boy from Arkham who worked at the grocers as I walked towards the inn. I stopped there, buying bread and cheese for nourishment. The boy seemed overjoyed to have someone to talk to, saying that the townsfolk did not speak with him, only silently bought their food and left. I asked where the inn was, and he drew me a crude yet efficient map. My destination was just down the road, the only other building he labeled was the church at the end of the street. I thanked him and went on my way. I studied the map as I walked; it was a small town, this road I was on being the main one. It seemed that it branched off at certain points to residential areas and abandoned houses. The only native of the town I met on that first day was the man who ran the inn, Howard. He was a rather strange looking man, wrinkling and balding prematurely, with large, watery, unblinking eyes that never seemed to let me from their sight. My attempts at conversation with him were futile, as he obviously did not wish to talk to someone from out of town. I rented myself a room, unsure of how long I would be staying, and made myself comfortable. I was exhausted from the journey and soon fell into a deep slumber. When I woke that night I looked out my window and saw the townspeople. Many of them were wearing hoods, and all of them were heading towards a church at the end of the road.
     I ventured downstairs to discover that Howard was just about to leave. He turned his head slightly from the door and stared at me with his large, unblinking eyes. “You are not yet needed,” He said, “you will be paid at a later day, return to your room.” And with that, he walked out the door.
     I did return to my room, my curiosity growing more intense by each step. I laid in bed, trying to figure out what Howard could have possibly meant. What would I be needed for? When was this later day? I pondered well into the night, trying to think of every aspect. But to no avail, the information proved to be just too little. I eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. Filled with dreams that I now know were far from just nightmares.

     I awoke the next day still curious. I rose from my bed and readied myself for the day. Not bothering to shave, feeling there was yet no need to. I then headed out of my room. Howard sat at his desk; he looked up and nodded as I walked by. I nodded back, then left the inn and headed towards the church.
     The street was again deserted, as if these people only appeared at night, or I frightened them. I quickly reached the place and examined it from the front before entering. It looked old and rundown, like it had seen better days. The sign outside read “The Esoteric Order of Dagon” and was in dire need of a new coat of paint.
     The strange thing was that before I entered I felt the feeling of true terror of the unknown that I hadn’t felt irrationally since I was a child. I ignored it and crossed the threshold into the building.
     Inside it was the same; rundown, and in need of paint. The pews were old and crumbling, many of them already broken. The crucifix on the alter had long since fallen off, and laid on the floor, broken. I walked in more, following the footsteps in the dust. They headed down the center isle. I followed them until there was nothing left to follow. They led behind the podium, where the priest would stand. I looked around there, unsure of what I would find. Searching until I felt I had looked everywhere thrice over. Then, I found it: a secret door in the floor. I opened it, to reveal a ladder reaching down into darkness. I hesitated, unsure of whether or not to continue.
     Needless to say, I ventured forth.
     The basement was dark and damp. Pipes crisscrossed the ceiling and let out short bursts of steam every now and then.
     I stepped onto the floor, feeling the wall beside me for a light switch. I found one after a short search, and flipped it. Fluorescent light instantly flooded the room. And how I wished it didn’t.
     Revealed was a large chamber, big enough to fit the entire town. Statues were inside of nooks in the walls. Upon inspection, they were busts of creatures I had never before even dreamed of. One was the horrific continence of a tentacled creature with a rather bulbous head. Another seemed to be an ancient Egyptian pharaoh. Yet another appeared to be a normal human with to many limbs, quite like the Hindu deity. More and more lined the walls. Most were too horrible for me to even describe, others were seemingly normal. All of them brought about a sense of dread when my eyes fell upon them. On the other wall was a platform. Walking to it, I saw something lying on the ground. As I drew closer I began to see a shape. And when I got there, I saw it for what it was. A human body, symbols carved into it, drained of blood, and positioned to fit into an icon engraved on the floor. Blood filled the lines on the accursed image, outlining it in red. I suddenly knew the nature of my “job,” and what I would later be needed for.
     Human sacrifice.
     The thought brought a terror to me that I had never known before. I turned and ran. Thundering across the room, I reached the ladder quickly. I climbed faster than I had ever done before, and did so blindly. Afraid to look anywhere but at the square of light that symbolized life to me.
     I jumped out of the hole and slammed the secret door down on it. I ran across the church, focused only on escaping this town. Unfortunately, I did not see the two men who grabbed me by the arms before I reached the door.
     I looked up at my captors. Very large, very ugly. No hair, with faces that seemed to have far too many wrinkles for their apparent age. A flat nose, thin lips, with three strange lines on either side of the neck, and the same large, watery, unblinking eyes Howard had. They stared fixedly ahead, not sparing a glance at me.
     The church doors opened, and in walked another one of the strange Innsmouth residents. This ones face was very similar yet subtly different than the other two, and he was better dressed, in a suit and tie. With a wave of his hand, he apparently ordered the duo to drop me, and then introduced himself as Phillip.
     “You have seen more than you are yet meant to.” He said, “We cannot let this knowledge escape the boundaries of this town.” He reached into his suit jacket and brought out what seemed to be a ceremonial knife, he drew it out of its sheath and raised it above his head. “Ia! Cthulhu Ecf’rcas!” He screamed, as be plunged the knife down.
     “Wait!” I shouted, barely dodging the blade.
     Phillip paused, “Why?” he asked, looking at me inquisitively with his unblinking eyes.
     “Because…” I didn’t have a reason, I said the only thing I could think of, “Because I- I want to join you!”
     Phillip stared at me for what seemed to be decades. I feared he would say no and kill me then. After a long while, however, he sheathed the knife and held out his hand. “Welcome to the Esoteric Order of Dagon.” He said.

     I was officially inducted at a ceremony that night. The entire town attended. I walked down the middle of that secret room below the church, people on either side. They all had the same strange deformities I had seen on Phillip and my captors, to various extents of severity. Some looked almost normal, like Howard, with only a nose that seemed a little too flat, lips that seemed a little too thin, and the unblinking watery eyes that everyone had. Others didn’t even look remotely human. They had no nose to speak of, a rather elongated face with lines and wrinkles covering it, and a row of three indentations along the neck that reminded me of the gills on a fish. I tried to think of what could possibly taint a bloodline so that the people seemed to look like fish. No amount of inbreeding could possibly do this. Not in the vaguest of circumstances. The only conclusion I could come up with was that they were cursed.
     And how close I was.
     I reached the platform, the body was gone and the blood cleaned off. I could actually see the symbol now. The tentacled creature, the one I saw the bust of, in a throne over a city, wings spread wide. Around it were six words in a language I had never before seen.  They read: “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”  After studying this for a few moments more, I looked up at the man standing next to me. It was Phillip. But he no longer wore a suit and tie, he had substituted them for priestly robes, with a large, ornamental headpiece. I recalled seeing one similar to it in a museum in Arkham, but I had no idea what it was for at the time, and I had heard only a few vague speculations over a possible ancient religious use. Phillip bowed to me, and I did so back. He raised a hand, holding the ceremonial knife from my previous encounter with him, above his head. He then spoke words in what appeared to be the same language as that in the image on the floor. “E’won tcud’I s’ht namtni e’ht Criet’ose R’dro Dagon.Y’m e’ht ti’rpsfo e’ht P’ed Sneo et’rtnep s’h luo’s dn’ r’vild m’h o‘t e’ht Tae’rg Dl’o Sneo ll’w. Y’m s’h la’tnve ecf’rcas ev’vr e’ht Tae’rg Tsi’rp.” He brought the knife down and cut open the palm of his left hand; he then took mine and did the same. His grip was strong, and before I could pull back, he had pressed our two wounds together and allowed our blood to intermingle. “Uo’y er’a w’n tr’pf e’ht Criet’ose R’dro Dagon. Uo’y e’wo e’m n’t sr’llod dn’ eik’oc. Ia! Cthulhu volkal. Cthulhu fhtagn.” And with that, I was a member of the Order.
     After the ceremony, I went to Phillip, and asked why the people of the town looked the way they do. He explained about Obed Marsh, who married a Deep One and brought the bloodline to them. As the “Innsmouth Look” progressed (the citizens of the town were apparently born as normal human beings) they could breathe underwater and other such things. By the time it was finished, they would live below the waves.  They were immortal, and would live to be the sacrifice to feed the intense hunger of the Old One, Cthulhu, upon the time of his Call and awakening.
     I did not know what to say to this.
     I asked if I would become a Deep One. Phillip said no, explaining that I would be their connection to the world outside. Telling them of current events and luring people for sacrifice. He refused to tell me what exactly these sacrifices were for, only saying that it would become apparent with time. I was then told to leave the town, and find someone to replace myself as the human sacrifice.
     I left the next day. Leaving my things, with the exception of the essentials, in my room at Howard’s inn. I was no longer charged to stay there, as I had become a member of the Order.
     It disturbed me how quickly I found a sacrifice, and how easily I had done it. A boy, no older than 20, agreed to come with me to Innsmouth. I made sure he had no one he was providing for. My conscience wouldn’t have allowed me to live knowing I had killed a family, no matter how small. I returned to Innsmouth within the week, the boy in tow. I did not attend the ceremony he was required for. I simply stayed in my room and slept, once again dreaming dreams that were much more than they seemed.
     I was sent to Arkham again and again to find more sacrifices. I did it with a chilling efficiency that scared myself, and quickly learned to stay awake the days of the ceremonies. The dreams were too horrible, beyond that of my wildest and most terrifying nightmares.

     I did this for years. Luring countless street urchins, homeless, and prostitutes to Innsmouth, always making sure they had no family, no one who would die or suffer from their disappearance. It still amazes me that no one noticed all the missing, or, if they were, I suppose it was just never reported. The town’s residents came to know and love me. I would occasionally attend ceremonies in which one of the denizens of the place would graduate into a full Deep One. I used what medical training I had to help the people, doing what I could. I eventually moved into one of the houses no longer used, as its owner had long since gone to the sea. I set up a small clinic there, getting visitors at all hours. Most of the patients were children; only very rarely would I get an adolescent, or an adult. The Innsmouth Look apparently strengthened the immune system considerably as one aged.
     Those ceremonies for the full Deep Ones, those were far more interesting than my induction. Phillip, being the head priest, stood at the platform with the graduate, then blessed him or her in the ancient language of Lord Cthulhu. Asking Father Dagon and Mother Hydra to allow this Deep One to pursue the science and religion that was customary to their race, he then touched him or her on the forehead and opened a trap door that the symbol was carved over, which led to the sea. The townsperson then shed his or her clothes and dove into the water. Phillip said an incantation while he closed the door, and the ceremony was over. It was truly fascinating. No one mourned the loss of their friend or family member, but rejoiced that they went to join the rest of the Deep Ones in Y’ha-nth-lei, their city off the coast.

     It was monotony for six years. Finding sacrifices, attending the occasional ceremony, and helping the citizens of the town when they needed it. When I was age 30, however, Phillip and the other priests ordered all members of the Order to attend a ritual that night. If one did not, they would be considered a traitor to the Order and put to death.
     I obviously went.
     The entire day was filled with anticipation. I had brought no sacrifices; I hadn’t even been to Arkham for two weeks. No one was graduating to a full Deep One, nor had anyone done anything to constitute being put to death and made an example of. I had no idea why we would all be ordered to attend. I asked all my patients and Howard that day what they thought might have been going on, no one had a clue; all said that nothing like that had ever happened in their lifetime. So, I just shook my head and waited.
     That night, I headed towards the church. It was when walking in that crowd I felt the first tremor. Not in the earth, but in my mind. I had no idea what it meant at the time, and assumed it was just a headache.
     How I wish I was right.
     I filed down the ladder with the rest of the town. It took a while, but when the last of us arrived in the secret room Phillip began. He spoke in Lord Cthulhu’s language, and raised his hands in the air, beckoning us to do so also.  We did, and he bent down and opened the trap door to the sea. What I saw, I couldn’t believe. A Deep One walked out. Not just an ordinary Deep One, however, this one was huge, gargantuan, even. The Innsmouth Look had so progressed in him that he was unlike anything I had ever seen. The gills on his neck were larger than any of the townsfolk, his nose was but two slits in his face, his mouth was filled with long teeth that seemed to be filed to points. His tongue was snake-like: long and forked, and his face appeared to be scaled, with pebble sized markings all over his skin. Unfortunately, I could not get close enough to investigate them further. His eyes were the truly strange thing; they were red instead of the normal dull grey, and they shone with an intelligence I hadn’t seen in any of the people in town, as if he had seen and known far more than any human sanely could. His fingers and toes were long and webbed, and his entire body was a dull shade of slimy grey. Although he was humanoid, his muscular structure was unlike anything that I had ever seen or studied, no doubt his skeletal system was different also. He had no genitalia, bringing to mind the question of reproduction, especially if he was who I thought he was.
     I tore my eyes away from the Deep One and looked around me to see that everyone was on their knees, bowing. I dropped to my knees and did so also, trying to peak and study the thing further. After a moment, I heard him open his mouth and speak to Phillip. I only recognized a few words, Cthulhu, R’lyeh, volkal. Not enough for me to understand what he said. I remembered the old stories the children told me of the oldest and largest Deep One, the one who spoke to Dead Cthulhu himself at his house in R’lyeh. Father Dagon. That’s why we were called here, that’s why we were bowing. This was the father of the Deep Ones, the one who will help awaken Lord Cthulhu and give him his first meal. That was the strange tremor I had felt earlier. His power. I assumed Mother Hydra, being Father Dagon’s mate, was in the water below us.
     I heard the trap door open again, and Father Dagon dove in. We stood up, looking expectantly at Phillip. He said nothing for a moment, then told us what he knew. He said that Lord Cthulhu would be awakening, and that the time was soon. The Call would be heard again within the next few years. The town was overjoyed; this is what they had been waiting for, what they knew would happen for countless centuries. I, however, was not so sure. I worried of my own fate. From what I knew, this awakening would mean the end of our world; it would mean most men would die. I knew the Deep Ones spoke of paradise after the Call, but what did they consider paradise? I feared for my life, and the lives of all mankind.
     Unfortunately, I could only do something to save myself. I spoke to Phillip later, and asked him to make me a full Deep One. He refused at first, saying the ritual was too dangerous and I was too valuable to the town. But I persuaded him, convinced him that I would take the risk, that this was a payment for all I had done for them. He explained that this rite had a high chance of failure, and that if it did fail, I would go mad.
     I agreed to do it anyway.
     The next week the ceremony was held. I was given robes to wear, and told that they were essential to the ritual. I climbed down the ladder, rather cautiously, to the secret room beneath the church. No one was there but Phillip and another priest whose name escapes me. They stood next to a large table with straps to hold my arms and legs in place. Before I could wonder how they got that down there, I was on the table and strapped in. A few candles were lit, and a stick of burning incense held in front of my nose. Phillip started to say something in the language of Lord Cthulhu, and brought a knife above his head. The knife seemed to glow, as if there was something inside of it. Then, things turned black, and I passed out.

     I awoke in my bed, Phillip sat next to me. When he noticed I was awake, he proceeded to explain that the ritual was a failure, and that I would lose my mind and go completely mad within the month.
     Well, a month came and went, and I feel I kept my sanity. I had fewer patients, and wasn’t asked to go to Arkham quite so much, but I was sane. Even if the townsfolk didn’t believe it.
     Things were slow for a long time. I did little; I talked to Howard often, and attended ceremonies for the graduation of many of my friends, but nothing more than that. I was only ever asked to heal broken limbs and give medication for the common cold and occasional flu. Howard said that Phillip had convinced the people that I was not to be socialized with except for in extreme and unforeseen circumstances.
     Until, of course, the Call.
     I was in the secret room when the Call came. I don’t remember exactly why I was down there; I believe it was to study those horrific busts further. I was actually holding the statue of Lord Cthulhu when I felt it. The Call was in my head; I fell to the floor, screaming in pain, when it happened. Like Dagon’s tremor but a thousand times worse. I felt R’lyeh rise above the waves, and the doors to Lord Cthulhu’s dark house open. I felt him stand, and I felt him spread his almighty wings. I sensed him dive into the ocean and feed upon those he captured. I felt and sensed and knew all that happened.
     I was intoxicated on the feeling of Lord Cthulhu’s glory, his power, his magnificence. I lay on the floor of that secret room, nearly high on this sensation. But, it was all taken away so quickly, too quickly. I felt Lord Cthulhu turn around, flying gracefully through the water. I sensed him enter his dark house once more, and felt the doors close. I knew that R’lyeh sunk again, and knew that the Deep Ones were not there in time; they had failed, and must wait for the Call to be heard again. I broke down and cried there, on that floor. Then, I felt something else in my head, blindingly painful, and blacked out again.

     I woke in my bed, Phillip sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.  He explained that I was found on the floor of the secret room, and they needed an explanation, now. I told him I was studying those busts, and of what I felt. His eyes grew wide with pleasure as I described Lord Cthulhu’s rise, of his feeding upon those unfortunate sailors. When he asked if the Deep Ones made it, if Father Dagon and Mother Hydra were on time, I looked away. The smile on his face faded; replaced with a look of sadness I had never before seen in our time together. I told him why I had passed out; the feeling of R’lyeh returning to the sea was too much to bear, far worse than of that glorious city rising. He understood, and said that he was proud to have someone so sensitive to the Dreamlands to be able to feel Lord Cthulhu’s rise in their midst, and he was sure the others would say the same. I nodded and thanked him, he left, and I returned to sleep.
     I slept and I dreamt. I dreamt of Lord Cthulhu sleeping in his dark house, and of Nodens standing guard. I dreamt that Nodens fell asleep, and Lord Cthulhu escaped. That Lord Cthulhu did what he could, but did not regain the strength to slaughter Nodens before he woke. I dreamt of failure. I then passed to another dream, one of a time not yet come, where the Old Ones walked the earth freely, and the Elder Gods had retired to some far off planet. This was a paradise, peace and harmony abound, each Old One ruling a different part of the earth, as they had in the millennia before time. Cthulhu, lord of the oceans and the risen cities of Atlantis and R’lyeh, controlled all sea travel and life, be it beneath the waves or above. Hastur, lord of the skies and all in them, ruled the cities in the sky, the birds, and those who traveled with them. Nyarlathotep, lord of the Nameless City and the land of Africa, had resurrected the “Mad Arab” Abdul Alhazred to record the new history of the Old Ones in his al-Azif. Azathoth, lord of Australia and the northern and southern poles, directed his land from his court in the center of the universe. Shub-Niggurath, lady of the Eurasian terrain and fertility, ruled her land through her Thousand Young whilst she remained in Azathoth’s court. And Yog-Sothoth, lord of the Americas and of time, who defends our land from Nodens. I dreamt that man lived well, with no war or violence among them so long as they pleased their rulers. I then dreamt of the time between the Call and this, when the Old Ones fought off the Elder Gods and took over the world. Most people went mad, others went into hiding, and those who did not died in the battle. Only the true believers, the cultists, and those the Old Ones thought to be useful were spared in this war, this slaughter.  I saw myself being lifted to safety by one of Lord Cthulhu’s tentacles, and I saw him destroy those holding me captive. I know this was more than just a dream; it was a prophecy. For I dreamt of places I had never seen or been at the time, but reside in now.
     I woke in a cold sweat, but not from my dreams. I appeared to have contracted a fever in that time, although I am unsure of how long I had it, my memories of then are fragmented. I remember a multitude of townsfolk visiting me, although I recall nothing of their stays. I remember Howard doing what he could do to break my fever, but to no avail. My most vivid memory is of Phillip coming to me, in an apologetic explanation. He told me why he had asked to me to go Arkham and find the sacrifices all those times, what they were needed for. He said he could tell me because of my sensitivity to the Dreamland, where Lord Cthulhu and the other Old Ones could communicate with us easily. He told me that when the human blood filled the symbol and an Elder Sign was drawn within, it would strengthen Lord Cthulhu for his return. He said that they had obviously not done this rite enough, or our Lord would have been able to wait for the Deep Ones to come to him, or to find them himself. I understood this, if only vaguely in my lethargic state, and nodded in agreement. He told me more, explaining finer details and other possibilities to brace Lord Cthulhu for his rise upon the time of the next Call. But I heard none of it.

     When my fever broke, the town was in a panic. While I slept, apparently someone from Arkham came and discovered the Order. He escaped and told the authorities of its doings. They were on their way now, supposedly investigating “bootlegging” in Innsmouth. Of course, I did not know this when I woke, and got out of bed, dressed, and proceeded out to find out what the devil was going on.
Howard was in my front room, apparently coming to rouse me and help me escape. He explained the situation to me and it seemed grim. We left the house and went with the other townsfolk towards the church, to hide in the secret room. No one brought anything with them but the clothes on their backs, and what was in their pockets at the time.
     The entire town gathered in that room for what seemed to be centuries. Packed like sardines, we all watched the trap door in the ceiling. We heard distant explosions, and knew they were truly erasing the town from the map. Then, we heard footsteps. What seemed to be only one person, walking slowly. He traveled down the center isle of the church, between the pews, and stopped around where the podium was. He moved something, and then we heard him run back outside. It was completely silent for a tense moment, then, we heard a group enter. Everything was quiet for a anxious second that seemed to last forever, then, all hell broke loose.
     The trap door was flung open. Police and military flowed in. A few of them had body armor and bulletproof vests on; all of them had guns, which were pointed at us. We slowly raised our hands above our heads in surrender, more concerned with preserving the lives of those around us than resisting the law. Their people moved among us, arresting and handcuffing everyone. The children and adolescents were forced up the ladder first. A gun was pulled on a mother reluctant to let go of her child, but she was not shot or wounded. Many of the parents cried silently as they watched their little ones go, most of them mouthing silent messages when their child turned around to look one last time. Those too young to climb the ladder were carried up. The women were next. The men glared threateningly as their wives were taken away, but remained quiet. When that was done, the rest of us were aggressively cleared out. We were taken to unmarked windowless vehicles outside the church; some were just starting to drive off as we arrived. I was put in the last one, along with Phillip and a few of the other obviously higher up citizens.
I do not know where we went or how we got there. We drove for a long time. It was completely silent between us in the back, all of us trying to figure out what our fate would be.
     After what seemed like a few lifetimes, the van came to a halt. The doors were thrown open and my name was called. I looked at Phillip, who nodded; I did so back, and left quietly. The doors were slammed shut again and the van drove off. I looked up to discover I was outside a hospital with one of the policemen. I had never been to this one before, and wondered if it was one of the ones in Arkham or a neighboring city. The length of the drive told me it was not Arkham, but I knew not how long we were actually in there.
     The man took me by the bicep and led me inside. I was brought down countless corridors and endless hallways. Unsure of where I was going but refusing to talk to the man who now held me captive, I looked at each of the rooms in an attempt to deduce where I was being taken to. This served to only add to my confusion, as inside each room was something different. Some were research and others were patients. A few I wasn’t sure which, I only knew that I did not want be the one inside.
     After a very long walk we stopped in front of a door marked “Private,” in what seemed to be a hallway meant only for doctors and the other people who worked at the hospital. The man produced a key ring from his pocket and, after a few attempts, unlocked it. He opened the door and led me inside.
     Within, I was put in a chair and the man left. On the walls were diagrams of the human brain and nervous system. A plastic skeleton stood in one corner and a desk covered in official looking papers in another. I studied the room, trying to get an idea of where I was and what was going to happen to me. After a few moments another man came in and sat down. And who was it but my old friend from Miskatonic University, Herbert West.
     West looked at me, and said simply, “You look like hell.”
     “I’m sure you would look much better after a police raid.”
     He nodded, “I’m sure I would too.” He looked through some of his papers, “The Esoteric Order of Dagon,” he read aloud, “a cult practicing unholy rituals, worship of strange beings, etcetera, etcetera… and… human sacrifice…” He looked up at me, inquisitively, “Now what exactly are you doing with a cult practicing human sacrifice?”
     I then proceeded to tell him everything of what happened in the past eight years. Starting where I started with you, going through to my induction into the cult, finding the sacrifices, the rituals and ceremonies, the arrival of Father Dagon, my attempt to be turned into a Deep One, my feeling of Lord Cthulhu, and my dreams of what is yet to come. Leaving out details that I felt pertained only to my personal life. After I finished, he looked at me for a very long time. Then leaned across his desk and whispered, “Look, I’ve done some strange things, horrible things, things that the author of the Necronomicon and all who read it would most likely approve of. I have absolutely nothing against unholy rituals or doings; in fact, I’m rather interested in what they consider ‘unholy.’ But I’m sure the reanimation of dead tissue wouldn’t be sanctioned by any church of a Christian God, but what you got here… This… is too dangerous for normal men to know. The Great Old Ones will return in their own time…” He fell back into his chair, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to declare you mad, for your safety, and that of mankind.”
     I protested, telling him that he went to school with me; he knew I wasn’t mad, but he wouldn’t listen. He said that the Old Ones would help me if their day was in my lifetime, and then called security. I fell back in my chair, not believing that I was actually being sent to a madhouse.
     “Don’t worry,” West said, “They treat people quite well where you’re going.”
A few moments later, two large men in uniforms walked in and carried me off. I kicked and screamed down the hall, but to no avail. I was thrown in the back of a van and driven to Arkham Asylum, where I now reside.
     I tell everyone I can what will happen, and I know someone will believe me and help me do what I can to bring the Old Ones to us.
     I asked for a copy of the Necronomicon to be added to the Asylum library. I was given Dickens and Poe instead.
     I never found out what happened to my friends from Innsmouth. I only know that the town was destroyed, and the Order disbanded as efficiently as it could be. I still hear of the Innsmouth Look from visitors to the other patients, and rumors that a torpedo missile was fired at an unknown target beneath the town. The sailors on the submarine claimed that a giant fish-man attacked them. Some of them are my friends here now. One of them is one of the sailors who I felt heed the Call and let loose Lord Cthulhu upon our undeserving earth. He is a gibbering madman, incapable of human speech, speaking in a language inarticulate to the normal human tongue, a language I learned in secret, and will never translate. But at least I know that in his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
     The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.

     All of this happened over 80 years ago. And I suppose that Phillip was wrong about the ritual being a failure. My mind turns to the sea more and more often these days. Whenever the orderlies let us, I spend all my time in the pool. But that’s a bit too shallow for my taste… Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn! Ia! Hastur ai! Ia! Shub-Niggurath! Ia! Yog-Sothoth! Ia! Azathoth! Ia! Nyalarthotep!  Ia! Ia! Ia!  Y’m uo’ yojne ru’oy siek’oc dn’ ek’c r’f eh’t dne s’i hgin! Ia! Ia! Ia! Cthulhu volkal! Cthulhu fhtagn! Ia! Ia! Ia! Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn! Ia! Ia! Ia!