The Lovecraft Files
A Yu Yu Hakusho/H.P. Lovecraft fusion fic by Sir Psycho Sexy
A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I present to you the idea that, in the YYH Universe, Lovecraft took some of his inspiration from demons that haunted him- especially a certain B-class one that I am writing about now.
I hope you enjoy.
-SPS
9 May 1928
Again, my sleep continues to be haunted by things of most awful reckoning, summoned by the darkest parts of my subconscious to torment me- and so it has been since I was a young boy. I do not know if I have any sort of odd perceptions about me or if this is all in my mind- oh, how I hope it is all in my mind!- but now I shall relate to you what happened to me a few nights beforehand.
I lay in my bed, asleep; again my eyes open, but, for some unfathomable reason, my body does not move. I am a prisoner here in my own bed, wanting to thrash my limbs about, but unable to. I want to scream, but my mouth does not move. It seems that the stronger these...things...are, the more paralyzed I become. I had to fend off the night-gaunts in my youth, but, since I have become a grown man, these presences about me grow ever stronger.
I can only describe the horror upon seeing that ghoul enter into my room. Again, I am quite stiff and chained by an invisible, intangible force to my bed, and my eyes are forced to watch as that horrid creature makes its entrance. Sometimes it rises up through the floorboards, unnaturally, without a single noise, as if it had conjured itself there through some rite that is forbidden knowledge to mankind, casually throwing the laws of Newtonian physics out of the window. But the night before last...I must say it had crept into my room though a gate of unimaginable blackness, blacker still than space itself, so black that it was wont to suck one's mind and one's sanity out of one's constitution. I could do nothing but gaze into that pitch-black abyss out of whence it walked until it had closed up via a pair of eerie translucent hands with squamous, beady purple eyes running the length and width thereof, appendages that simply should not be.
The only motion my body made at that time was the frantic racing of my heart, ready to nearly explode from my chest. I wanted to ask it so many things, from what hellish depths it came, but my mouth had been clamped shut as if there had been wire sewn into my lips. It inched ever closer to my bed, and I could see its actual eyes: a sharp and reflective gold, like a cat's, but millions of times more malevolent in their gaze. In place of hair, its head seemed to be covered in long stands of blue-green seaweed that eclipsed those horrific golden eyes as it moved.
And then it spoke.
It had the voice of a human male in the tenor-to-baritone range, oddly soft, but something quite disturbing as its tone and demeanor had very little to do with the aura it projected around itself; it also spoke in a black tongue that I had heard a few times prior among Oriental fish-traders at Red Hook. I knew that this abomination must be their god, and it must be demanding something of me, possibly even my own life. I could not wrap my mind about the hellish sounds of its speech, but it slowly, eerily, gestured towards itself with those unnatural hands, saying a name that started with the letter "Y"- though whether it was followed by the long "a" sound as in "father" or the short "o" sound of "cough", I have difficulty in remembering.
It was after much of this tribulation that I awoke to find that my limbs could move, that I could speak once more, and that Puss was still napping at the foot of my bed.
My brain is wont to repeat the approximation of the name that I heard over and over again: "YOG-SOTHOTH, YOG-SOTHOTH..."
16 May 1928
My sleep has not been disturbed as of late, except for a singular incident last night. The thing my mind has labeled Yog-Sothoth returned once more, again though a portal of absolute blackness; although I could still not move my body, for some reason, my lips did not seem to be sewn shut as they had been the previous visitation.
Since I had fallen asleep without blowing out the candle on my night-stand, the creature was dimly illuminated; aside from the aforementioned abominable aspects of the ghoul, it- no, he- looked like a tall youth with alabaster skin who appeared to be covered in veils and wrapped in white silken bandages like that of an Egyptian mummy. My stomach churned at how dissonant this whole image seemed: translucent, detached hands, seaweed for hair, but so amazingly human-looking that I had to question him as to his origin.
Although he did not appear to understand me, I soon saw another terrifying apparition upon my wall: a head that was naught but a shadow, a shadow of nothing, with disturbingly wide eyes and thick, Negroid lips. My stomach did somersaults into my throat in that moment, and all I could do was scream. His hellish golden eyes glared at me, as if I had displeased him by being terrified of this other ghoul upon my wall.
I finally had the strength of constitution to ask him, "What is this?" aloud. Again, he said nothing, and slowly walked away from me. But, somehow, he seemed to understand my words; there, in the darkness of my room, there opened several hell-mouth-like portals in sequence, making me gaze headlong into their blackness, almost if he were teasing me, daring me not to go mad. Gates within gates! Doors within doors! A most hellish geometry surrounded me, and the ghoul with the Negroid lips kept watching, watching…
I did not question where I was; it seemed I was everywhere and every-when at once. This apparition was time and space itself, and his eyes- his eyes kept boring through me, again trying to make me understand that which mankind should not yet know. He then marched with a certain certainty towards me, and I saw that translucent hand with the horrid purple eyes upon it reach down and stroke my face as he again inched towards me, possessing the audacity to climb upon my bed, his stringy seaweed-hair hanging down into my face. My heart was wrenched again with fear. I was wondering again if I were dreaming, and what Dr. Freud would have said about my case.
I screamed as if to guard myself from insanity; and this is the last thing I remember before I awoke again, Puss still at the foot of my bed, unfazed.
I shall once more purge myself of this ghoul Yog-Sothoth by writing of it, even if it may be for my own catharsis.
Itsuki grinned as he sat in his boat and once again read the two pages that he had ripped from the diary of one Howard Phillips Lovecraft back in 1928. He had been exceedingly careful not to frighten the man again, since it seemed that Mr. Lovecraft had no interest in paying him for sexual relations, back in the days when he was travelling to the Human World to expand his business after murdering his pimp, and his darling Shinobu had not yet been born. It was a nice little memoir, after all, there were not many demons around that could say that they inspired the most terrifying cosmic horror in the Lovecraftian mythos.
Sensui noticed the yellowed paper in Itsuki's hands. "What are you reading?"
"What would you to say if you were sleeping with Yog-Sothoth? These pages I hold in my hands are proof."
Sensui laughed insanely, and his laughter was very close to shaking some of the stalactites of the Irima Cave roof.
"I take that as approval," Itsuki retorted.
"I had an inkling he was being chased by demons, but I never would have thought it would have been you." Sensui smirked.
And the rest of the world would never know, and think of Lovecraft's work as fiction, for the only two men who knew the truth were completely insane…
-FIN