My name is unimportant, but I feel that my story should be told, for there are many things that man should not meddle with. My only sin was to be too curious, and I feel that soon I will pay for my curiosity with my life.

There are many things in this world that are better left unsaid. Who would want to know about Ib in the land of Mnar, or primeval Valusia, or the strange and unmentionable Mi-Go, or even the blasphemous Old Ones and the hideous Shoggoths, which even the author of the Necronomicon did not want to believe in.

Let me start at the beginning. Until yesterday, I lived at a small apartment in Arkham, within sight of Miskatonic University. I had a reputation as a sort of ghoul—not literally, mind you—but I was the sort that dabbled in black magic and forbidden tomes of arcane knowledge. As a student, I was denied access to the forbidden tomes kept under lock and key in the Library, but I knew an old librarian who would smuggle out bits and pieces of books that he had looked at. From these did I learn some of the things that I mentioned previously. Although some of them sickened and horrified me, I always wanted to learn more—until, of course, we found the statue.

As I said before, I always liked to dabble in black magic with my one close friend, Jon Edgars. We met in our first year at Miskatonic, and he introduced me to various rituals, for he was more deeply into magic than I ever was. Together we would perform minor rituals and the like which never worked, but never failed to diminish our interest in them. We were both students of medieval metaphysics at Miskatonic, but the main reason why were taking that was because it was the only way to get into the University, what with its famous collection of ancient tomes.

On October 1, 1929—for I can never forget that date— we decided to find a grave and exhume the coffin, so that we could use the bones in some perverted ritual which I will spare the reader the description of. Late at night, we walked to the overgrown cemetery (for driving a car would be too obvious) with shovels and crowbars.

We quickly found an old grave, that of Ezra Williams who died in 1734, and set upon digging the coffin up. We did not have any remorse digging him up or any of its blasphemy. This, in itself, proves how low we had sunk, to which I would regret later. After about a half hour's work, we brought the old, decayed coffin to the surface and pried the lid off quite easily, for it was very rotten.

Inside we found the skeleton, still in good condition despite the years, and selected the left thigh-bone and the right hand, which Jon specified we would need.

When we took out the right hand, we found it gripping a small mud-encrusted object that glittered a dull green. Believing it to be some fancy jewelry, I put it in my pocket to sell to a pawn shop for money later. Then we cleared away our work and returned to my apartment.

Needless to say, the ritual we used the bones of Ezra Williams in did not work. After the failure, we decided to see what the green thing was. I cleaned the mud off it in the sink and, when I got my first good look at it, I dropped the thing on the floor quickly, shuddering, for I had never felt such a evil force emanate from anything before.

Overcoming my initial revulsion, I put the object on the table and studied it closely. It was a statue, though of something I had never seen or heard of before. It depicted a crouching human-like figure, although the two arms and legs were all it had that were comparable to a human. It had two giant wings which were wrapped around the body, and were much like a mythical dragon's wings. Its face —if you could call it a face—was the worst part of all. It had two slits for eyes (which seemed to look at me directly, as if it were watching me) and a mass of tentacles in place of the mouth. It was undoubtedly the most disgusting thing I had ever seem. It seemed like a cross of a human, dragon, and a krakon or giant squid.

Jon, however, appeared to be intrigued by it, although I could tell the statue had shocked him as well. Taking it in one hand, he said he would take it to his apartment for the night and put it in his personal safe. The next day he would see if our librarian friend could find out anything about it in the Library. Bidding me good night, he left.

That night, however, I did not get a good sleep, for my dreams were plagued by manifestations of the figure of the statue, except it was alive and wanting to devour me. It would look at me with those awful green eyes and the mouth-tentacles waving grotesquely, and then it would take a step towards me and reach out with a clawed hand—and then I would wake up with a feeling of being watched. No matter what I dreamed of, it would always end with that thing coming for me.

The next day I met with Jon after classes, and he confessed the same dreams. He had done considerable research on the statue, and on Ezra Williams. Williams, it seems, had been a dabbler in the arcane like us, and apparently had been ripped to pieces by an unknown force in his farmhouse, with his mother and wife in the next room. They had heard nothing, and only discovered the body when he did not come for supper. He, or rather what was left of him, was buried clutching the blood-soaked statue in his right hand.

As to the statue, all the librarian could come up with were scattered descriptions of forbidden rituals and cults, and one name—Cthulhu. Apparently, Cthulhu was Cousin of the Old Ones and lies dead but dreaming in R’lyeh. That was it. No doubt if we had access to the forbidden tomes we would have learned more, but Dr. Armitage would not grant access to a student for the sake of doing some research. If he knew of the Cthulhu statue, he would probably confiscate it. Plus, I had the indescribable feeling that, for the first time in my life, I did not want to know about Cthulhu.

The next two weeks fast became a living hell. Every night I dreamt of Cthulhu, and during the day I became enthralled in the fact that Cthulhu was watching me with those evil green eyes of his and following me around with those great wings flapping like those of a bat's. Many a time I would wake up to see something silhouetted against the moon at the window, but whenever I sprang to it and opened the window, all I would see was Arkham peacefully slumbering.

Then, one day, I got a call from Jon. He had been having the same dreams as me, although, he confessed, his were ten times worse. I suspected that that was because he had the statue in his own possession. Although I told myself that was stupid, I couldn't shake the feeling of that.

His attempts to sell it were unsuccessful, as no-one would take a second look at it, and he was consigned to keeping it in his safe. He was very excited. He said he had found some more information on Cthulhu, information that he said was very interesting and he would tell me when I got over to his place. He said, rather cryptically, that he was "close to finding the final key" and he would like me to watch him "summon" something — though I couldn't quite catch what he said that something was.

Getting into my car, I quickly drove to his apartment building. As I walked down the hall to his apartment, there was a loud explosion from his room. I felt the ground shake, and his door warped outwards at a large degree, with a strange green light flashing from within. I ran to the door and stepped inside the room. I knew something terrible had happened. Everything in the room was partially burned, with the burn marks coming from one spot in the middle of the floor next to where Jon lay.

As soon as I saw him, I retched and vomited into a corner, unable to accept what I saw. He had been, well, I suppose the best description was that he had been turned inside out. I gingerly approached the body, forcing down the bile in my throat. In the remains of one hand he tightly gripped the Cthulhu statue.

Taking the thing, I put it in my pocket. People were beginning to cluster in the hall, and I quickly took leave of the horrifying apartment. I left as the police arrived, for I had no wish to be connected to this. Getting into my car, I took another look at the statue. Despite being covered in Jon’s blood, its eyes seemed to glow even more. I drove home.

As the week progressed, my dreams became all too real. I became a virtual prisoner in my room, afraid to go out because of the hideous thing which I suspected to be a manifestation of Cthulhu (whatever it was), would follow me and taunt me at all times. My only trips outside my apartment were to buy drugs to keep me awake.

I thought much on the statue and everything related to it. Whatever forces possessed it, it was enough to kill the first “owner” (for we did not own the statue as much as the statue owned us), Ezra Williams, then to kill Jon. I began to believe that what he had meant on the phone—that he would summon something—meant that he had tried to summon Cthulhu, himself. Something had gone wrong and something had killed him. I thanked God that he did not complete the ritual.

I placed the statue on my dresser facing the bed. It looked to be alive, staring at me like that, and I always fancied that it would stretch its wings out of the corner of my eye (even though it was motionless when I looked at it directly). Any of my attempts to destroy the statue where unsuccessful, for no matter what I tried to do, I always seemed compelled to keep it, plus my own belief that it should not fall into evil hands.

Eventually I ran out of money due to my anti-sleep drugs and was turned out of my apartment. I only saved the Cthulhu statue and took to wandering the streets. On the second night of this, I suddenly felt that tonight one of Cthulhu’s spawn, or even the Great Cthulhu himself, would come for me to take me to that unmentionable city of Cthulhu that I had heard of from the librarian, and where, no doubt, Jon was now. The hallucinations were becoming more and more vivid, and I knew I was to be taken like the other keepers of the statue. Buying some paper and pen with the meager money I had left, I started to write this tale which you are now reading.

I am now sitting against a street lamp across from the main complex of Miskatonic University. I must stress to the reader now that you must take this and the statue to Dr. Henry Armitage at Miskatonic University. He will know what to do with it. Ah, I am doomed! I can see something fly across the moon. Now I hear a loud thump near me. It is coming. Cthulhu is coming for me. I take out the statue—look at it—the eyes, the eyes glowing green bright green evil green. Cthulhu, Cthulhu is coming! I can't—I can't anymore—I must...

Thus ends the manuscript found on the victim. Otherwise, he was dressed normally in all respects. Ten dollars was found on his person, and there was no other identification. Death appeared to have been caused by extreme stress to the brain and heart by outside influences—in simple terms, he was scared to death, probably a result of the drugs he was taking to stay awake.

As to the statue he referred to in his statement, nothing of the sort was found on the victim. Perhaps someone took it, or it was lost. No matter. Dr. Armitage was contacted about this matter and advises anyone who finds a statue like that described in the writings to bring it to him immediately. In fact, we would have not even included this story, which at first glance seems to be the ravings of a madman, in this article if not for Dr. Armitage's insistence. Some elements of the story seem odd, though. Yes, there was a Jon Edgars, suspected in grave robbing, and yes, he did die in a horrific accident. The strange bite marks around the unidentified victim’s hand, which the police said were caused by rats (though it seems they are too big for rat bites), are confusing at best, and most of all, the curiously sunk pavement beside the body, as if something had pressed down heavily on it...

We will let the reader judge for himself on this matter.

—reprinted from the Arkham Advertiser, Oct. 23,1929

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Copyright © 1997 Sean Rodgers. All Rights Reserved.