Tansy Undercrypt

The boy emerged from the shallow surf screaming uncontrollably and pointing to his leg; a jellyfish or small octopus had attached itself there, causing more alarm than discomfort. His mother and grandmother ran to the rescue, prying the creature off, and soothing the child by various means for hours afterwards. “Such a reaction!” Grandmum fussed at the changing kiosk as they prepared to leave. “You know he’s a sensitive boy,” Mother hissed, calling out to him in the next breath: “Howard Phillips Lovecraft, you’d best be out and ready in 3 minutes!” “Sensitive? I should say. Let’s hope the poor thing isn’t scarred for life!” Grandmum retorted, looking at the ocean briefly before turning towards the road.

“It is with a growing fear of my own mental fragility that I continue writing.” (Howard Phillips Lovecraft, 1935) “I know that it would make my career; no one remembers the scientist who mapped the trench, only the adventurer who went down into it. But I can’t. It’s ridiculous, but I’m afraid.” (Harriet Phyllis Lovecraft, 1960) “God Particle, sure – but which god does it belong to? I think someone needs to ask that question, don’t you?” (Harlen Phytel Lovecraft, 2012) “The blemish is not a sunspot. It cannot be; it moves and changes. It is neither fixed nor star-shaped. Those are tentacles. Let them laugh; I would bet my life on it.” (Hara Philippa Lovecraft, 2178)

Jimmy went down to the edge of the black water and started the chant. Out in the depths of the ocean, a pulsing luminescence appeared and, at the edge of the surf, there was agitation (as if the water were about to boil). The chanting grew urgent and the waves doubled in size, forcing Jimmy back to the first sandy knoll. He pressed the “pause” icon and stood there marveling; the Necronomicon iPhone app was about the best thing ever.

In a trance, she rage quilted – her hair wild, droplets of blood on the fabric where she’d stabbed herself with the needle and carried on. When she came back into herself, Mrs Lovecraft discovered she’d sewn blocks of strange characters together with a border of green curling tentacles. In the center, a repulsive book (the color of human skin with a disturbing face). She feared the reaction of her husband, but decided to show her son. Howard might know what to make of it all.

The portal pulsed with energy, its colors moving from a sea green to pitch and back again. “I must try, Annabel,” he said softly, taking her hand. “That gentleman, Lovecraft, used something similar to find me.” “The sight of it chills me to the bone,” she whispered, wiping the tears away. “I shall dream of you every night,” he said then, “and come back as soon as I can. I may be able to send a sign that I’m all right; I could send a black cat … or even a raven.” “I shall die without you,” Annabel broke into sobs. “Nonsense,” he replied, “read any of my books to pass the time and I shall be with you.” He kissed her, then stepped boldly into the opening and was gone. Tonight, the sounding sea would be no comfort, she observed grimly; this was a dreary midnight indeed – and she feared she would see him nevermore.

Looking back at the set before turning the lights off, Fred felt very strongly that it was time. The sooner the children knew the truth, the better it would be. The trolley and the mailman, the talking bear and the princess – they were all fine but, come next taping, Rogers would introduce a cultist, a doomed fisherman, and maybe a shuggoth or two. Lovecraft was right … and it was time to bring some changes to The Neighborhood.

Will went into Living Ink, having made the appointment almost a year in advance. “Looking to bring my nonexistent street cred up from zero, man,” he told Sharps dryly. “Oh, and it will, bro’,” the tattoo artist replied, his black eyes intensely locking onto Will’s, “but we typically recommend a control or protection rune to go with these.” “Nah – no writing, especially when I can’t read it.” “Suit yourself.” And the pain began. Will was light-headed at the end of it, almost hallucinating. At the station next to his, the girl’s dragon wing tattoo looked like it was folding and unfolding across her back. “Upper arm, Cthulhu, 2 hours, no rune,” Sharps informed the cashier, who whistled and smiled at Will, nodding, while the ivy vine etched around her neck began to stretch to her shoulder. “Right, then. 400 bucks and you’re cleared to have a tentacular day!” She laughed then, but Will didn’t; his arm felt funny.

After realizing she’d be paying for that ridiculous mermaid incident forEVER, Ursula blew ink and got the hell out of Dodge. Neptune could go brine himself; she wasn’t ready to be part of a reef yet. Potions packed and eels in tow, she rolled across the deep at top speed; she was heading to the South Pacific where they knew how to show an old girl some new tricks. The tentacles-only resort at R’lyeh was the very first destination on her list.

“I’m sure you think I’m an idiot,” Sally said, wiping her tears away, “leaving a light on as if he’ll be home any minute. I just don’t think I can face the idea that he’s never coming back.” “I don’t think you’re an idiot at all; I completely understand. And, you know, I think they do come back; as a matter of fact, I’m certain of it,” Herbert West took her hand across the table and gave her a comforting smile.