Turn A Page Or Two: From Cronus to Cthulhu

From Cronus to Cthulhu

Immortality, my dear friend, is a bitter curse. What I possess is sought more diligently than gold, silver, or diamonds. It is even more attractive than that most coveted intangible, power. Suppose there was indeed a Fountain of Youth. Ah, being eternally young would have improved my situation. But alas, I am condemned to hobble about this cruel Earth perpetually, an ancient man. Believe me when I say, every day I feel my age. My bones ache in misery, singing harmony with my soul. What is my age? More centuries than you can count on your fingers and toes. I've been around.

I must disguise my words with frail ambiguities. There is a whole cabal of us old timers who walk the dusty roads of Earth. We have none to thank but Satan himself for our nasty ordeal. Well, now, perhaps I am shifting the true blame from myself. After all, it is not every person who sells their soul to the devil for eternal life. Most that did were far cleverer than I and had other benefits to fatten up the deal. Alas, I signed my name in blood in exchange for eternal life. I must sigh in grief to say I got what I deserved.

This story is not about me. It is not something I experienced, at least not first-hand. My tale is a story that needs to be told. Yet, it will not be something that would reveal my identity. It is only that fact that emboldens my tongue and loosens my pen. I would like to have a little payback to my foe. I want to shine a light on the Prince of Darkness, if it is only a frail candle. It is not such that I have compassion for anyone who would follow in my steps. We who have signed the oath are a despicable lot, the scourge of the Earth.

If there is one pastime I truly enjoy in my perpetual elderly years, it is reading. I have passed through the phases of carnal pleasures. I have tried every drug and have investigated all forms of lustful desires. These were temporary fixes that satisfied for only a brief moment. They soon grew old and stale. It came to my realization that the tempting fruits of Satan were, in fact, all appearance and no substance. Empty promises are the contents of the whole rotten barrel. But reading, now that is a grand adventure.

Alexandria was my favorite hangout place. That was a library beyond description. I have never seen a worthy rival. It was there that I studied most diligently. I could be found poring over the papyrus manuscripts in the morning, noon, and night. It was not the great knowledge that I was accumulating that motivated me. Rather, it was the joy in the journey. In all the world, I had found one thing that I truly enjoyed without measure. Far, far better than eating, mind you. Indulging the palate leaves one's physical frame in agony. Reading, however, sharpens the mind all the while entertaining.

It was the subject of Cronus that caught my interest like no other. That he predated the Greeks was no secret. According to the 'official' myth, Cronus had sired a whole host of children. These grew to become the deities of Greece after they did in their 'father'. As is true with all religions, faith is not a search for truth but rather an exercise in control. None could dare question the status quo. To deny the doctrine was heresy and punishable by death. I, of course, being immortal, had no fears of death. But to spend eternal life in a dismal dungeon cell was less attractive than death.

In Alexandria, there was a select few who practiced the dark arts. They evoked the pantheon of gods of Egypt. I infiltrated their number. Now, I know that I am risking exposure. Perhaps some of that small, select group were miserable creatures like me who had made an 'oath' in blood with Satan. If that is so, please do not attempt to decipher my identity. Rather, please think of me as one who keeps the flame of Cthulhu burning bright.

Who is that, you say? Allow me to continue with my story, dear friend, and I shall reveal all. Whether you choose to believe it or not is irrelevant. I am simply relinquishing my responsibility and performing my duties. My hands shall be washed clean of all blood guilt. That is all that matters to my selfish self.

Now, my companions' worship of the Egyptian gods was simply a ruse. In Alexandria, the masses still clung to their deities despite their defeat by Greece. But as the military goes, so follows the divine. The power of Set, Osiris, and company was simply dismissed with a mocking laugh by the conquering legions of Greece. So, a small group of zealots clinging to the banished faith posed no threat. But the book's cover was switched, and the pages were soaked with blasphemy. Our exclusive party was dedicated to the illegitimate son of Cronus. His name, of course, was Cthulhu.

At the time, I thought that this was pure foolishness. Like so many Gnostic organizations, knowledge of the group and doctrine was revealed in greater clarity the deeper one progressed. I was an initiate and pure novice. Still, it became apparent that this sect of Cthulhu was worldwide. I vividly recall viewing a map of extremely accurate depictions of what would one day be called the Americas.

When Rome, in its arrogance, came and burned the library of Alexandria, I wept for my virgin mistress. To this day, in horrible nightmares, I can see the flames burning. I prefer the torments of hell over those hideous fires I witnessed. Gone was all the knowledge in that massive collection since the dawn of creation—Papyrus full of wonderful words, now nothing more than ashes of mourning. My associates, too, vanished like smoke in the wind. Not knowing anything further than my local association, I could not flee to join others elsewhere. I had no place to seek out the bastard son of Cronus. But still in my heart, I held a home for Cthulhu. And not in my head alone, but in my head. For in my brain, I never lost focus on the elder of the dark gods. Why, you may ask? Well, let me tell my tale.

Over a dozen and a half centuries had passed, and the world had been turned upside down. The barbarians of Europe, fueled by their sciences, had risen from their caves and bearskins to become unrivaled masters—they fought two world wars to decide which of their numbers would dominate the Earth. Millions upon millions had perished in the madness. But personally, it brought me to my knees in wonder, for the coming of the reigning of the pale man was foretold centuries ago by the followers of Cthulhu.

Ah, and then my tale begins in utmost earnest. I, being a man of darkest skin tones, decided that this insanity of the Europeans held nothing but woe for me. The lure of mammon that captivated these conquering colonizers repulsed me. I headed for the deepest jungles of Africa to her secret cities. It was an attempt for me to escape the reality of the changing world. I knew I would have to come to terms with the new elite sooner or later. Eventually, I left the solitude. It was, in fact, a move of necessity. To stay any longer would have brought suspicion as to why this old man did not die. It was a dilemma that I had constantly faced for many years.

Fresh out of the woods, so to speak, I had to acclimate myself to reality. So much had changed! The advances of technology amazed me. The information explosion seduced me. Above all was the superfluity of books. I was truly overwhelmed and began to devour the innumerable volumes of literature. I discovered an author, H.P. Lovecraft, open to the world like the noonday sun. A man who openly talked about Cthulhu: I was both amazed and impressed. It could not be a coincidence. If only I had time to rise in the ranks.

Astrology is one of the most arcane arts, and as such, it is one of the most difficult. Contrary to the host of frauds and fakes, astrology is useless in determining one's immediate future. True, the lining of the celestial bodies leaves an indelible mark on a person, much like a brand on cattle. But the stars are indeed an extremely accurate indicator of the seasons. I am not, of course, talking of spring, summer, fall, and winter. Rather, there are epochs or ages. The dawn of science was one era. It is the period that is in dominance now. But it is waning and fading with a rapid retreat. Of course, it may not seem so, but I am confident of this truth.

The ancient texts talked of the times when the fires would descend. This would occur after the name of Cthulhu, the one who sleeps, had been proclaimed. I watched with horror as the United States dropped not one but two atomic bombs on Japanese citizens. The nuclear fission bombs literally burned as the sun, albeit in brief flashes. Without a doubt, this was the fulfillment of the prophecies.

It is true that I knew little of the faith, but I am such a devout follower. Yet I knew the basic tenets that I was instructed in almost two millennia ago. It was the tale that exposed the truth from Cronus to Cthulhu. I will now expound upon that mystery and then bid you a hasty goodbye. All the while, I have news of the most wicked nature to my compatriots. That is, we have been betrayed!

Coming to the United States in the turbulent times of the sixties brought me anxiety. There was, of course, the racial struggle surging. The African American man was demanding equality. Also, social forces were resisting the capitalistic system for a more sharing and equitable one. Neither of those causes gave me the slightest interest. I had no concern for any other save myself. I sought out the answer to Cthulhu. Allow me to confess my hopes truly. It was my greatest expectation that, through the power of that dreaming deity, I could overcome my curse of Satan. I intended to pit the son of Cronus against the Prince of this World.

Cthulhu is, in fact, a creature of cruelty. Perhaps my attraction to him was that I saw so much of myself in my dark master. Evil, however, does not negate intelligence. The dreaming deity lay in his dormant state, awaiting a time when he could be ushered into the world of the living. Of course, it would be his task to conquer and rule. It is in the ruling aspect that my hopes lie. Who can rule the world alone? Does one not need a government or some other association? It would be better to rule on Earth than to wander as some hopeless vagabond. Ah, to be a priest in the order of my master.

So it was during my travels that I ran across a man whose name I shall not reveal. He is dead, I assure you. His throat was slit with my hand. I feel a slight measure of remorse for doing this to the individual. He was a wicked man. But then again, if we are to talk in candid honesty, most men are wicked to one degree or another. Who is there without sin? This man practiced the dark arts of voodoo and knew Satanic ritual. But those two aspects held little attraction for me. I was well-versed in both fields, already far beyond the proficiency of this man. What he had that I desired was a set of papyrus scrolls.

How such an individual had attained this most rare and precious treasure, I did not inquire. Certainly not at first. I had to play a ruse that I did not know the immense value of the writings, let alone my passion. I have learned over the years the subtle arts of the conman. Never show your lust. It will only raise the price of the ante.

This man had bonded with me. I, however, had long since discarded any love or affection. Not because I am a cruel and hard man. Rather, it was a task I undertook as a necessity. I have buried my wife a dozen times. I have said goodbye to dear friends scores of times. It got to the point where the misery of the coming loss outweighed the happiness that friendship could provide. I walk alone in a world of billions. Except, of course, with the others who have taken the 'oath'. But I desire nothing to do with such wicked creatures. I am indeed a fox, but the others are dragons. Unlike me, one who has rejected Satan, the majority have embellished their dark lord.

After some years of interaction and feigned friendship with this person of interest, he finally let me in on his secret. There was an island, I shall say no more than to say it was in the Western Hemisphere. It was very tiny and out of the way of the shipping lanes. No humans lived upon the small outcropping. A vessel that had sailed from Egypt in ancient times was shipwrecked upon the shore. I learned the history of that voyage from the papyrus writings I discovered on board. The captain wished to salvage the knowledge of the most ancient Egyptians. He and his crew were patriots longing to restore defeated Egypt to its glory. Understanding that knowledge is power, he took his treasures to preserve them. Unfortunately, somehow, he was shipwrecked upon this nameless atoll.

His misery was my salvation, and my friend's demise. After personally visiting the deserted island, I indulged myself in the murder of my associate. He had done me the greatest service ever rendered unto me. What a cur I am to have repaid him in such a way. But necessity can bring harsh extremes. Besides, this man was a dark fiend and truly deserved a brutal demise. At least that is how I justify my guilt.

It was a sheer delight to be reintroduced to the ancient texts I had once adored so many years ago. It was like walking into another time. For a while, I felt at home. Hope filled my heart, and life was pleasant. I even dared to thank God for his mercy and kindness. And then, as an eagle flying over at the greatest heights and then miserably plummeting to the ground, I fell from jubilation to utter horror—a grim misery beyond anything I had ever experienced. I learned the truth about Cthulhu, the illegitimate son of Cronus.

Mr. H.P. Lovecraft was a most clever man. His fanciful words brought the dreaming God into the psyche of humanity. He boldly did this. Truly, during his lifetime, he received almost no attention. But after passing into the shadows of death, many have come boldly forward to give praises and accolades. The majority, I suspect, are those secretly involved with the cult that I was once an initiate in so many years ago in Alexandria. Of this I must now speak on.

Allow me to state that we have been duped, and according to those ancient tomes that I viewed, the time of events had been reversed. The fall of the stars should have preceded the proclamation of the great name of Cthulhu. I will now give you the exact details of why that is happening.

Cthulhu was never truly the illegitimate son of Cronus. Rather, that claim brought him to the level of that deity and his offspring. The truth is far too shocking for humanity to accept. That this Cthulhu, this creature whose semblance was so far from human, that he could be best described as a monster. That this being of the great beyond was dominant over the so-called gods as a giant over ants. Truly, then, none would pay homage or bow the knee to the modern rulers. All would seek out the ancient one—at least those with sense.

Portraying Cthulhu as Cronus's bastard son was a way to turn away those who happened upon his doctrine. That was the first effort of the powers to be. To diminish Cthulhu into the oblivion of obscurity. There would never be a call if there were no adherents to awaken the sleeping god. That attempt, as we are all aware now, has failed.

So then came the call from one H.P. Lovecraft. We can only suspect the motivation of his premature beckoning. Perhaps he was fooled into taking the actions that he did. Yet his writings contain such an intimacy of knowledge that I would have to rule this motive as impossible. This Lovecraft purposely spread the name of the great Cthulhu prematurely to awaken him too early.

I attribute this to no other quality than excessive adoration. The only explanation that makes sense with all the facts I have gathered. What would motivate a mortal to do such a deed? Indeed, that word 'mortal' is truly the key. H.P. Lovecraft knew that if he had done what was proper and kept his mouth silent, the time of the coming of his master would have been out of his lifetime. He took it upon himself to awaken the sleep god a little earlier. He reasoned that Cthulhu, once awakened, could complete the task of his return.

But the stars are most powerful. Are they not the eternal markers? Do they not continue in their immortality steadfastly? Empires rise and fall. Ages and epochs come and go. But through it all, there is a consistent factor: the stars. As such, the authority of their council is absolute.

Cthulhu, you see, was a god from a faraway, distant time. He and his kindred minions had lived in their epoch. Great and wonderful as they were, they were no match for the eternal, ever-present stars. In their wisdom, they saw what was to come. Through arcane knowledge and dark calculations, they contemplated the future. If only they could bring the stars to Earth at the precise moment, they could skew the orientation of the universe. The timing needed to be precise. The grand overlords of the past required every smidgen of power they could muster. Cthulhu could have successfully returned. I do not doubt this conclusion.

What else could one say? That the words of mighty Cthulhu were false? He has not returned, that is obvious to all! And so, I say to those who work and plan, that your plans have been frustrated. Yet allow me to finish this proclamation with hope. More was written in those papyrus papers than I have revealed. Contingency plans, just in case. Truly great is the wisdom of Cthulhu. I do not know if Cthulhu has returned to slumber after his early awakening. I cannot see into that nether world of gray. I do know that the great Cthulhu lives. Where there is life, there is hope. I will inform you of all of the secret writings I have discovered. I will not repeat the mistakes of the past. I, after all, have all the time in the world.

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In The Mind Of Maggoo