Way back ago, this strip of beach was where the rich folk lived. Me and my kin lived inward to the slums. But that was before the Old Ones came back and all sorts of things came crawlin' out of the waters.
Ain't nowhere that it was good, after that, but the rich folk, as they do, moved to where things were, at least, a bit better. They moved in and we got pushed out to live next to the Deep Ones.
In the beginning there were some troubles. They raped some of our women and we hacked up some of them and ambushed a few more with shot guns. Eight months later some ugly babes were born and we bashed their heads in 'cause no one should be kin to things like that. After that, we had an understanding. They kept to them and we kept to us.
Ain't to say we haven't had an eye or two on them. When I was a boy, I'd sneak over by their camps and have a look in. Sometimes they'd be doin' these crazy rituals. Singin', kind of, and dancin' 'round this ugly statue like. Some times they'd go to the water and pull things out that'd make my eyes hurt. Most of the time they just fished and cooked and had chats with one to another as most folk will, though I don't really know what they'd say.
My grand daddy remembers from afore. Back then, he says, people could go where they wanted to. You could go up into the mountains and not get ate nor otherwise. You could go inland and come back the same person and not some sort of thing. You could walk from coast to coast, would you would. You could even fly, he says, but I think he was just havin' my leg.
I looked to the sky a once. There was something far way away. I couldn't rightly make it out except that it had a color that I couldn't put a name to. I looked to it and couldn't look away. I don't right remember what happened afterwards exceptin' that my folk say I was laid up for nine days with a fever or some such. I guess it was so 'cause they say it was so but I don't rightly remember except for the nightmares I sometimes have.
When I made twenty, my grand daddy gave me a thing he calls a talisman. It's a bit like a stick and a bit like a bone that's been bent funny. It feels sometimes warm and sometimes cold but always kind a sticky though it don't never stick to nothin'. He said I should always keep it and I always do.
No one goes to talk to the Deep Ones. Not never before, at least, though someone's just now come through who wanted to see them. He was tall and he had a robe like thing around him everywhere but his face. I think there was something in there with him but he looked most like a man, though you never know. I pointed him their way and gave my bye to him and wished him well 'cause there ain't no wrong in being nice... even if.
That was some hours ago and I don't know what happened to him. The Deep Ones are singin' loud and slow and there's a cold wind blowin' in from the sea. I don't expect it's nothing to fuss over, but my grand daddy's talisman is twitchin' which it ain't never done before.
I rekon I'll find out soon enough.
This story is part of the Cthulu Mythos of H.P. Lovecraft. The idea of a story set after the return of the Great Old Ones was inspired by J.B. Lee's story For Here They Shall Reign Again... although this is entirely my own take on the concept.
No comments:
Post a Comment