In The Sea

I attempt not to stutter now, as I recall back to a most horrific series of events which leaves my mind floating amidst a sea of inconceivable indifference and panic. Even to this day. It was upon a great metallic sea-fort, somewhere off the coast of Florida, where I was to be the chronicler of a series of biological-marine tests concocted upon the aquatic desolate sea floor.

Perhaps it was the strange echo of the ocean or the bizarre rust covered nails which held our fort together, twisting the beams which supported us with each breath the ocean drew and sent our way; but this internal feeling that something lurked out in the murky-misty malevolence of the Pacific was a feeling all too certain to myself, and perhaps to some of the other members of my crew. As to the nature of my actual business there, I must say I often found myself acting less like a chronicler and more like another fort hand, aiding every so often in the upkeep of the sea-bound structure and in the execution of the marine experiments, just every so often.

The only men I knew for sure, in the last two months we had spent in the stranded place, was Professor Hagon, a college-speaker with a wide array opinions on matters both mythical and realistic; Captain Keane, a scruffy sailor-type, straight out of an old ghost story, with an unkept beard and an addiction to soggy cigars to match; Lieutenant Bricks, a silent general-figure, in charge of the four unnamed soldiers which stood on constant patrol, and a young man named Maxwell.

Maxwell was more a janitor than anything. He didn’t speak much to me. And when he did he expressed a negative opinion upon the nature of our being here, upon the sea. Upon this fort.

I noticed, especially when he’d sported short-sleeved shirts, that Maxwell often attempted to hid a bizarre tattoo that was scrolled upon the upper portion of his shoulder which made its way down his arm. I figured at the time that he’d gotten it in his youth, perhaps, in honor of a past girlfriend, and just felt ashamed of it after a failed relationship, or something to that effect. I would, however, come to learn of it’s more sinister origin not too long after my noticing it.

I can call back to my first experience dancing about the line of questionable sanity on the cloudy and rainy afternoon in which I happened to be unwillingly volunteered to accompany Captain Keane out upon one of the fort’s four rowboats.

This was to maintain the boat’s stationary location whilst the captain lowered a sonar-device, attached to a long rope and a weighted end, down into those black watery depths that reached just so far beyond a twenty foot perimeter surrounding the fort. Needless to say, I was all too used to a dry-office job, sorting paperwork and such, eagerly awaiting the turning of the work-clock to that time when I may pack my things and return to my land-based apartment.

Being out there on that boat… was a more horrible and treacherously unending sentence than the never-ceasing hours of a torturous work day. Out on that boat, in the sea which brewed like an icy stew, I could turn my eyes to no clock and seek a day’s end. Days never ended out there; and not a single wave could break this constant flow.

The time we spent hovering above that abyss of blackness, whose bottom seemed to know no end, the time in which we could vacate and I could return back to that cold bitter flat bed, which awaited me upon that cold creaking fort, seemed all but relative at the time. It was out on that boat in which we began to get feedback from the depths below. A pulse which began to vibrate the boat from beneath us.

While Keane probably worried about the through of being carried into the sea by the waves, I worried about the surfacing of something much more sinister. The feeling of an unholy presence beneath us only personified the fear I was feeling. It took some time, but after two near tilts of the boat a panicked Captain Keane was instructed to retract the sonar-device and row on back to the fort.

The professor, Hagon, and the general had gotten the readings they’d needed. Even after climbing back up to the fort, I felt no safer, looking out at that ocean which stretched unto the world’s end. It was an empty feeling of the unknown and it clutched my stomach every time I though back to whatever it was that made those underwater pulses.

Keane reacted to the encounter with a wild natured culture-shock, while I remained quiet and calm. The captain was given a sedative and sent off to bed, while I returned to my room and tried to sleep off the fear of being out on those waters. I tossed in a frequent unrest at the nature of the captain, a man I already believed to be stern and rough, and the temper at which he flushed out upon the professor. It shook me heavily.

Fists flew as the captain, like a donkey, kicked and screamed in a fit of rage. A rage with ended with him getting carried away like an animal that had been put down. The yelling ceased. The army men took Keane away for a rest. yet, I was no closer to believing that we were safe out there, or that these army men and that scientist were really who they said they were.

I slept. It didn’t take long for me to begin and doubt the authenticity of the “honor” in which these men said they operated under. I needed answers. No. I demanded them! It wasn’t usually in my nature to go snooping around the contents of other people’s luggage; Especially my superiors. But, I felt myself drawn to the professor’s room and onto a strange looking arcane journal which loomed upon a corner-table in the far left hand of his room. It called to me. Out in the opening and ominous in color, I couldn’t help but notice from the hall outside.

This book, in a strange way, resembled the look of aquatic lifeforms and crustaceans crawling amidst it’s covers, but with a twisted look which appeared almost extraterrestrial in a sense. While the professor was away, off smoking with the lieutenant, I inquired in silence and decided to open the book. Before hand I had scrambled through papers which were scattered upon his desk.

Each one, a layer of secrets, no doubt, being kept from the lieutenant. That was… unless he too was in on the bizarre truth behind this suspicious venture as well? This ulterior motive for being in this fort, tapping away at the ocean’s bottom. IT was worse than I had feared!

Something more than sea-life research, perhaps? The professor’s papers referred to the book and it’s most boiled-down english translation. The book that sat before me was, and through the tongues of the supposed ‘old gods’, known as ‘The Grand Parantheon’.

The book told of an extraterrestrial entity from the surface of a desolate world. A world once know to humans, bet eventually forgotten. This entity, Thotep, was the leader in a barrage of equally unimaginable cosmic horrors which spanned the whole and pre-existing series of mankind’s recorded history.

The book told of a time in which the earth was dormant in a fetus-like state and that, at this most earliest age, was home and victim to the many inter-dimensional threats which still lurk in the forgotten corners of the cosmos. Thotep, ‘Grand Lord’ and seer of the arcane infinities that make up this world and the next, was supposed to have been betrayed by his subjects. Things that go by the names ‘Gorthuga’, ‘Swog’ and ‘Dythort’. 

Much like in the legend of Osiris, these turncoats ripped their leader into many pieces; but instead of spreading him across the earth, the disciples of Thotep harnessed his severed consciousness and stranded his physical and unphysical body across many alternate plains of reality.

This ensured that the three traitors could gain Thotep’s knowledge and understanding of all things; inevitably leading to their total takeover of the remaining nineteen space-horrors which continued to haunt the surrounding nebulas. They were a family of god-like monsters. Exactly twenty two of them. The book’s last mention of Gorthuga, Swog and Dythort’s plans ends with a celestial encounter, triggered by the ancient-horror, Kirith. 

For Kirith resented the three gods for their betrayal of his grand lord, Thotep; and so Kirith called upon the aid of ancient Archquondaik Gods. The other seventeen elder monstrosities who’s names were unknown to mortals at the time. These seventeen gods appeared and banished Gorthuga, Swog and Dythort to plains outside conceivable existence.

It was from that long-ago time in which Kirith gained the title of ‘Grand Summoner’. Since that time the legend of these gods have existed in the dreams and horrible night-time visions of madmen and those who stay tucked away; refusing to gaze upon the world with the knowledge they now possess. Those ancient things, which now slumber in the essences of myth and legend, were the reason we were here, on the fort.

This fort stood upon the underwater cathedral of a long-forgotten tomb. A large monolithic-coffin, if you will, of ungodly proportions that awaited opening was seated beneath us; and we were here to fish it out. A place where the recollected Thotep now resided was to soon meet the light of the modern times.

To the men I had aided in this effort, Thotep was an object of controllable power, sought by the highest and richest ranking members of the US, so I supposed. While the leaders of our government one day feared that bombs would rain down upon us from across the earth, they would take no position laying down arms whilst the power to conquer the planet, in the wake of war, existed just off the Southeastern coast.

Least’ that’s how it had appeared to me. So, it was the United States that were to harness Thotep in the new age, just as the lesser Archquondaik Gods had done countless millenniums ago. I made certainly sure not to disrupt the order of the book and papers upon the professor’s desks, leaving everything looking untouched.

I had even vacated the room before the professor’s return. I merely tracked down the lieutenant and stood by his side most of that week. To me it seemed like we were getting nowhere with research. I was writing little to nothing about the progression of this venture as I was left out of the secret meetings that were held up in the fort’s tower. 

Maxwell, the janitor, had grown evermore cold and distant. Almost showing a deathly hateful gaze whenever the professor entered the room. Rings came around his eyes and sometimes he looked whiter than usual. 

Professor Hagon was the only one amongst us, aside from the silent lieutenant, who never slumped into a depressed state. Hagon grew merrier with every passing hour. Then, there came that single, dreadful day. The last day.

When the four soldiers were instructed to keep Maxwell and myself in our rooms, while the professor and lieutenant conspired to achieve that which they had planned to do all along. This is what we encountered:

The prior night held no clues about the state arrest we had awoken to. Things turned sour, as I was warned that the second I was to leave my room I would be shot dead. I woke to a guarded room and threats being thrown in my face before I had the chance to ask any questions. Maxwell was told the same.

Before being sent into my room I had noticed Maxwell struggle with the soldiers on his way in. The tattoo on his arm seemed to have morphed and seemed almost as if it was moving, as he grew more and more cross with the struggling soldiers who tried to subdue him. That night a barrage of echoing nonsense filled the fort.

Blasts, explosions and booming noises shook the metal structure. Maxwell’s room, next to mine, was pulsing as he did nothing but scream nonsense words all through the night. My door wasn’t locked, but I was too afraid to open it.

About three o’clock Maxwell’s screams grew into chants as I could hear the soldiers outside his door growing tiresome of his voice. He repeated “Kirith! Kirith! Ach-Tuon-Vaslk-Thotep-Vadn Elnf Kirith! Kirith!”

His voice was not his own, and it moaned much like the unison of a chorus. Nonsense words and phrases I remember reading in the book filled the air, but strangely, as he chanted them I could recall their meanings. A message about escape.

About the name ‘Kirith’. Then it struck me, Kirith was the name of that Archquondaik God that avenged the abused Thotep. This chanting was the voice of a god! One of the Archquondaiks! Was Maxwell a vessel for the Kirith!? Was the summoning of Thotep already underway!?

“Has Kirith manifested again because he sees that his master, Thotep, will be taken advantage of yet again!?” I wondered, strangely specifically. I was at the point where every possibility that crossed my mind at that point seemed logical, no matter it’s obscurity. And by the time I had pieced all this together in my head, I could hear the soldiers had had enough.

I could hear Maxwell’s door open and the sound of all the four soldiers, that kept us hostage, fill his room. On one man’s command I heard machine gun fire and bullets tearing through the wall. I hit the ground as the soldier’s screams followed up behind a monstrous roar.

There was a blast and then a silence. I backed away into the corner of the room and gazed out at the empty open hall. There, before me, the metal surfaces of the fort’s corridors were caked in the liquified remains of the soldiers’ blood, guts, shattered bones and all those other little fleshy pieces that make up a human’s body.

Then, I saw it. Stepping out from Maxwell’s room A horrifying heap! It was Maxwell! His head looked as if a grenade had tore it apart from the top down. A strange glow emanated from his wound, and from that glow reached forth otherworldly appendages like arms and grabbers of an alien-kind. It was horrific. His shredded-open head oozed a purple light, covered in white and  silver stardust.

The longer I stared, I could feel my eyes begin to burn. It turned to look at me, at least, I think it was looking at me. I turned away as eyes stung to look upon him.

He turned away as his bullet-filled corpse began to walk down the hall to where Professor Hagon and Lieutenant Bricks were in the middle of summoning Thotep, so I believed. A short while after hearing more gunfire, and further cries of horror, I debated investigating. Then, the shaking stopped as all creaking and screams came to a silent halt as the fort went quiet.

I mustered all the courage I could and ran into the main chamber to see what had become of everyone. Along the way I found the captain, Keane, torn in two. No doubt a victim of that thing which possessed Maxwell’s corpse. 

By the time I made it to the main foyer of the fort I couldn’t stand. Across the room was the dead body of Bricks, the general. The room was painted in blood that spelled out ritualistic symbols while candles and a stone-alter lied cracked and scattered across the red metallic floor. 

Maxwell’s body had finally been shot down for good. Thotep’s summoning had been prevented, as planned by Kirith, err… Maxwell. As I stumbled through the horrid mess, I noticed that Hagon’s body was nowhere to be found.

I began to hear a small beeping noise that grew and grew, with a high pitch that stung my ears. If I hadn’t caught that noise in time I might have very well been the victim of the explosive charge which then detonated, mere seconds after I sprung for the exit door and off the landing. The explosive, no doubt planted by the escaping Hagon, collapsed the fort.

It’s center began to dive into the ocean below as I scattered for the dead captain’s rowboat. As the bridge beneath me began to collapse, I spotted Hagon, boating away, but within jumping distance. He was still holding that damned book that I’d found in his room. Behind me the collapsing floor pulled Thotep’s coffin and the bodies of everyone else back into the sea.

Hagon planned this horrific endeavor, failed and was now escaping with that damned object of destructive power. I fumbled to stop him, refusing to let him reap horror across the globe any further. Fueled with anger, I leapt from the collapsing foundation and landed hard in the boat, my foot booting the professor in the face.

I found my footing as my crash landing had swirled the boat so far on it’s right that Hagon fell overboard. The book flew from his hands and into the boat alongside me. As he fell back there came a great big metal beam from the fort’s last unsupported section.

As Hagon’s eyes shot up in horror, I looked away as it fell into the water, the huge bulk of metal, crushing him against the force of the open sea just as he leapt for me out from the water! More beams fell, like rain as metal and bits of ship and metal poles flew about my boat. I held up a pipe to repel flying debris and soon found Hagon squirming at the end of it.

He flew up from the water, attempting to tackle me, once more. I shoved the pipe threw his chest as he advanced. I pulled it back and kicked him off as I fell backward onto wood and sheets of metal on the floor of the rowboat.

I had no idea how Hagon had survived the falling beam, but surely the pipe had put him down. A wave caused by the fallen beam pushed the rowboat and swayed me far from the wreckage. I saw the fort burn up with each mile that the boat, the book and myself drifted away.

I feared that I’d been stranded. Lost at sea and destined to never share my tale. Not that the rational man would ever believe such a story, and from the panicked nonsense of a man stricken at sea for that matter.

I knew no help was coming, and so,  I lied down in that rowboat and waited to die. That book was right beside me. I hooked onto it at the last second of the struggle, I couldn’t let it float abroad. I contemplated throwing it overboard, but I just couldn’t.

Something in my head wouldn’t let me. I tossed it to my side after awhile and drifted to sleep as I slipped further and further out into the ocean. Then, there came a sound.

A bell, followed by men’s voices. Ropes dropped and a shadow enveloped my closed eyes. I shot up to find myself on a fisherman’s boat.

Large and great. The crew was all around me. After helping get to my feet the captain introduced himself and took me inside to get warm. Thank gods, I was saved.

I didn’t feel all that cold. The warmth of the rescue was enough to heat my blood. He inquired about my getting stranded.

I made up some story I can’t even remember. After I was fed and freshly dressed the captain approached me. He handed me what could only be described as the embodiment of the nightmare that’d befallen me.

He handed me the book, believing it to be mine. I took it. It being the only proof I had that what had happened to me was real.

After a lengthy fishing venture, I eventually made it back on land. Traveling to my apartment in Boston, I fell flat on my bed, face down for a nice long rest. I was exhausted in every imaginable sense.

I lied down for a long time, contemplating all that I’d been through whilst attempting to readjust to my usual schedule. I knew it would take some time, but I shuttered and rejoiced at my return. I’m attending work again and living the office job I had before.

But, not a night ever passes that my dreams aren’t haunted by that which I almost fell victim to. Ancient gods. Who’d believe it?

I still have the book. It’s locked in a chest in the corner of my bedroom. A pile of heavier books weigh it down.

Amongst those titles sit the works of Edgar Allen Poe, with pages bookmarked with local fantasy magazines. Some of the works including these newcomer writers like Howard, Derleth and Lovecraft. They’re alright, I guess.

Though, Poe’s always been my favorite. I’d always been fond of horror stories. I never would have believed I’d live through one. I don’t feel broken or amiss like you hear most reluctant survivors say. I feel tired. Just tired.

I’m afraid this will be how I feel till the day I die. Since returning to the mainland no government officials have tracked me down. I suppose that’s a good thing.

This has led me to believe that out little venture on the sea fort was nothing more but a privately funded experiment, by mad men. No government or special organizations involved. Why they chose me to chronicle the events there, or even take part in their sinister mission, I will never know.

Though, I feel safe enough now. Also, since my return, I have made it a point to relentlessly search all corners of mythologies and otherwise for Thotep’s mention. Other than that book which remains lost in my room, I finally found documentation of the damnedest thing in the farthest reaching corners of recorded history. 

The Vatican Archive, of all places. I found this bit on photocopy papers in the back alleys with some very questionable customers selling them. The archives and documents of old tell of Thotep’s creation, as recorded by an unnamed man, far older than my greatest ancestor.

These findings read as such: Thotep goes unmentioned in the writings of the more ancient races. It is a tainted section of an indescribably horrific cluster of events which was, for the better part of the last eighty two years, left out of all theories surrounding the heightened mythologies, which brought forth the belief of monsters and beings too great to merely be glanced upon.

It was in this jurisdiction that a devastatingly malevolent quantity of undocumented beings went without notice, or in this case, without a shuttering mention.

I came across documented records of Thotep’s supposed existence as most scholars, warped into the grand phycological phenomenon that is undoubtedly growing more common in this day and age, often do. So it was with the ever-growing curiosity of a hundred lesser mortals, before myself, that I delved into the passages presented to me and invoked, not a physical abomination, but an idea which grew until it became more real than the ground I now kneel upon, in astonishment and insubstantial comprehension. 

It is simply for the inevitability of my constant depleting sanity that I tell you now, that which I have learned before my ultimate entrance to a secluded and unruly end, thus chaining the mortal link of discovery and demise.

Thotep emerged from the organic festering remains of a black ooze, made of hate, an anthropomorphized plant-like substance, spawned on the surface of Mars by the last of a dying fraction of beings, fueled by a kind of hollow-matter and banished from plentiful resource for it’s very existence, which was judged as sinful by the highest priests of that, or any realm.

This incestuous being, who goes unnamed in all accounts both discovered and theorized, in it’s last moments constructed Thotep, a disciple himself, scrapped from the dead remains of kidnapped beings. With much fear the ancient being finally passed away as Thotep came into being.

Thotep emerged from the organic festering remains, and let out a sound so foul, it was said that every star the sound reached died in an instant. Thotep took to the dusk landscape, as a lone entity wandering the bleak infinity of a dead planet. It wasn’t until the colonization of a celestial race of jellyfish-like shelled beings that Thotep took full notice of the benefits which would come with leeching the life-forces out of other races.

He hid best he could, and one by one began to devour the immortal jellyfish-like race, only referred to as, Knuhl. The Knuhl’s population quickly plummeted as Thotep devoured half their kind, gaining their telepathic and interstellar-travel abilities.

Feeling grateful for the powers he had forcefully obtained, Thotep sucked the remaining life energies out of the last few Knuhl, but chose not to kill them, and instead let them live out in peace for a short time on the desolate surface of Mars, unable to leave and unable to reach out to any other race for aid.

Thotep would travel the universe for a time, obtaining unspeakable power and absorbing creatures and whole civilizations until his pure essence became the very driving force behind his power. By the time Thotep descended upon earth where he was merely a thought, a cloud of ideas that lost it’s physical form long ago. For a time he terrorized and aided the conflicts between the start of the New World and the Age of the Archquondaik.