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Call of Cthulhu
"
Of
such
great
powers
or
beings
there
may
be
conceivably
a
survival
.
.
.
a
survival
of
a
hugely
remote
period
when
.
.
.
consciousness
was
manifested
,
perhaps
,
in
shapes
and
forms
long
since
withdrawn
before
the
tide
of
advancing
humanity
.
.
.
forms
of
which
poetry
and
legend
alone
have
caught
a
flying
memory
and
called
them
gods
,
monsters
,
mythical
beings
of
all
sorts
and
kinds
.
.
.
"
—
Algernon
Blackwood
The
most
merciful
thing
in
the
world
,
I
think
,
is
the
inability
of
the
human
mind
to
correlate
all
its
contents
.
We
live
on
a
placid
island
of
ignorance
in
the
midst
of
black
seas
of
infinity
,
and
it
was
not
meant
that
we
should
voyage
far
.
The
sciences
,
each
straining
in
its
own
direction
,
have
hitherto
harmed
us
little
;
but
some
day
the
piecing
together
of
dissociated
knowledge
will
open
up
such
terrifying
vistas
of
reality
,
and
of
our
frightful
position
therein
,
that
we
shall
either
go
mad
from
the
revelation
or
flee
from
the
deadly
light
into
the
peace
and
safety
of
a
new
dark
age
.
Theosophists
have
guessed
at
the
awesome
grandeur
of
the
cosmic
cycle
wherein
our
world
and
human
race
form
transient
incidents
.
They
have
hinted
at
strange
survivals
in
terms
which
would
freeze
the
blood
if
not
masked
by
a
bland
optimism
.
But
it
is
not
from
them
that
there
came
the
single
glimpse
of
forbidden
aeons
which
chills
me
when
I
think
of
it
and
maddens
me
when
I
dream
of
it
.
That
glimpse
,
like
all
dread
glimpses
of
truth
,
flashed
out
from
an
accidental
piecing
together
of
separated
things
—
in
this
case
an
old
newspaper
item
and
the
notes
of
a
dead
professor
.
I
hope
that
no
one
else
will
accomplish
this
piecing
out
;
certainly
,
if
I
live
,
I
shall
never
knowingly
supply
a
link
in
so
hideous
a
chain
.
I
think
that
the
professor
,
too
,
intended
to
keep
silent
regarding
the
part
he
knew
,
and
that
he
would
have
destroyed
his
notes
had
not
sudden
death
seized
him
.
My
knowledge
of
the
thing
began
in
the
winter
of
1926
-
27
with
the
death
of
my
grand
-
uncle
George
Gammell
Angell
,
Professor
Emeritus
of
Semitic
Languages
in
Brown
University
,
Providence
,
Rhode
Island
.
Professor
Angell
was
widely
known
as
an
authority
on
ancient
inscriptions
,
and
had
frequently
been
resorted
to
by
the
heads
of
prominent
museums
;
so
that
his
passing
at
the
age
of
ninety
-
two
may
be
recalled
by
many
.
Locally
,
interest
was
intensified
by
the
obscurity
of
the
cause
of
death
.
The
professor
had
been
stricken
whilst
returning
from
the
Newport
boat
;
falling
suddenly
,
as
witnesses
said
,
after
having
been
jostled
by
a
nautical
-
looking
Negro
who
had
come
from
one
of
the
queer
dark
courts
on
the
precipitous
hillside
which
formed
a
short
cut
from
the
waterfront
to
the
deceased
’
s
home
in
Williams
Street
.
Physicians
were
unable
to
find
any
visible
disorder
,
but
concluded
after
perplexed
debate
that
some
obscure
lesion
of
the
heart
,
induced
by
the
brisk
ascent
of
so
steep
a
hill
by
so
elderly
a
man
,
was
responsible
for
the
end
.
At
the
time
I
saw
no
reason
to
dissent
from
this
dictum
,
but
latterly
I
am
inclined
to
wonder
—
and
more
than
wonder
.
As
my
grand
-
uncle
’
s
heir
and
executor
,
for
he
died
a
childless
widower
,
I
was
expected
to
go
over
his
papers
with
some
thoroughness
;
and
for
that
purpose
moved
his
entire
set
of
files
and
boxes
to
my
quarters
in
Boston
.
Much
of
the
material
which
I
correlated
will
be
later
published
by
the
American
Archaeological
Society
,
but
there
was
one
box
which
I
found
exceedingly
puzzling
,
and
which
I
felt
much
averse
from
shewing
to
other
eyes
.
It
had
been
locked
,
and
I
did
not
find
the
key
till
it
occurred
to
me
to
examine
the
personal
ring
which
the
professor
carried
always
in
his
pocket
.
Then
indeed
I
succeeded
in
opening
it
,
but
when
I
did
so
seemed
only
to
be
confronted
by
a
greater
and
more
closely
locked
barrier
.
For
what
could
be
the
meaning
of
the
queer
clay
bas
-
relief
and
the
disjointed
jottings
,
ramblings
,
and
cuttings
which
I
found
?
Had
my
uncle
,
in
his
latter
years
,
become
credulous
of
the
most
superficial
impostures
?
I
resolved
to
search
out
the
eccentric
sculptor
responsible
for
this
apparent
disturbance
of
an
old
man
’
s
peace
of
mind
.
The
bas
-
relief
was
a
rough
rectangle
less
than
an
inch
thick
and
about
five
by
six
inches
in
area
;
obviously
of
modern
origin
.
Its
designs
,
however
,
were
far
from
modern
in
atmosphere
and
suggestion
;
for
although
the
vagaries
of
cubism
and
futurism
are
many
and
wild
,
they
do
not
often
reproduce
that
cryptic
regularity
which
lurks
in
prehistoric
writing
.
And
writing
of
some
kind
the
bulk
of
these
designs
seemed
certainly
to
be
;
though
my
memory
,
despite
much
familiarity
with
the
papers
and
collections
of
my
uncle
,
failed
in
any
way
to
identify
this
particular
species
,
or
even
hint
at
its
remotest
affiliations
.
Above
these
apparent
hieroglyphics
was
a
figure
of
evidently
pictorial
intent
,
though
its
impressionistic
execution
forbade
a
very
clear
idea
of
its
nature
.
It
seemed
to
be
a
sort
of
monster
,
or
symbol
representing
a
monster
,
of
a
form
which
only
a
diseased
fancy
could
conceive
.
If
I
say
that
my
somewhat
extravagant
imagination
yielded
simultaneous
pictures
of
an
octopus
,
a
dragon
,
and
a
human
caricature
,
I
shall
not
be
unfaithful
to
the
spirit
of
the
thing
.
