Chapter Two. The Strange Tale of St. Etienne.
Upon answering a knock at my surgery door, I was confronted by a young messenger boy who bore a message from St. Etienne, sent from a boarding house in London's East End. I gave the young scallywag a shilling and proceeded to read the cryptic message that bore my name and address.
"Finch, I find myself in dire circumstances and require your assistance forthwith. If you could attend me at your earliest convenience my old friend, at the address below. Tell no one of where you are going".
Antoine St. Etienne.
As I had no more patients to attend that afternoon I resolved to visit my old companion immediately. I told my wife that I had to make a house call on a recovering patient, locked my surgery and hailed a hansom cab, giving the driver the address of the boarding house where St. Etienne had his lodgings. The boarding house appeared quite rundown, my old friend had obviously fallen on hard times, and I assumed his "dire circumstances" were of the financial variety. The proprietor of the boarding house, a middle aged woman, Mrs Barnstable, a particularly vulgar specimen of humanity, obviously very fond of hard liquor, and she was it appeared quite objectionable when in her cups. She complained incessantly and resorted to the foulest of language of the kind that would make a sailor blush with embarrassment, as she showed me to my friend's room. I was shocked by the appearance of St. Etienne when he answered my knock, he had aged prematurely, his black hair had greyed considerably, he appeared haggard, there were large dark smudges around his eyes and he looked quite undernourished. The unmistakable odor of opium smoke met my nostrils, and coupled with his appearance, I suspected my old friend had become physically dependent on the powerful narcotic, probably in China, and this had accounted for his apparent "disappearance" from Hong Kong some twelve months previously. After perfunctory greetings, St. Etienne bade me sit and after drawing on an opium filled pipe he exhaled the pungent smoke and began to relate a very strange tale.
"Upon my last expedition to Australia I studied the myths and legends of a remote Aboriginal tribe. Tribal lore passed down through the millennia, spoke of a "Rain of Fire from the Heavens", bearing a "Strange God". These legends told of a "Cursed Tribe" that worshipped this god, sacrificing many young men and women to this "deity". A great council of tribal elders from many tribes that inhabited the region was called and its ruling was that this "Cursed Tribe" and it's diseased "God" must be destroyed. A large war party with warriors from many different tribes attacked the "Cursed Tribe" putting them and their God to death and cremating the remains. After my last expedition I spent some time back in Arkham, studying the large collection of occult literature in Miskatonic's extensive library. I found in that cursed tome penned by the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, the Necronomicon, vague references to a strange "God" that fell from the heavens in a "Rain of Fire" in ancient China, which a "Cursed Cult" worshipped and sacrificed the local villagers to. These references seemed to correlate with the salient points and time frame of the Aboriginal legends, and I began to suspect some connection between the two."
"The references in the Necronomicon alluded to a lost manuscript of forbidden knowledge, the K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang, attributed to this "Cursed Cult" who supposedly were eaters of human flesh. There was in addition an enigmatic name R'yloth K'than Shuggarath, and mention of two villages Zhengyu and Kweilow, in a remote region in Northeastern China known as the Plains of Leng. The maps of China I studied, both modern and ancient, contained no reference to this region or the two villages. I mentioned this in correspondence with one of my Chinese contacts, a man named Weng Chiang, and was surprised to learn he was aware of this region and indeed the village once known as Kweilow."
St. Etienne paused in his tale, retrieved a bottle of brandy and poured two generous measures. He handed me one, swallowed his in one mouthful and sat back down. I sipped my brandy, thinking to myself that as well as opium, he had also developed a dependence on hard liquor. He cleared his throat and continued.
"Many years previously Weng Chiang had become hopelessly lost in a blizzard whilst part of an opium smuggling expedition returning from the mid-east, and had stumbled, half frozen, upon a small village in an isolated valley. The inhabitants had nursed the smuggler back to health, and during his recuperation he had witnessed the funeral rites of an incredibly ancient holy man, Ling Chow, also known as The Wise One. Local legend told of the arrival of this wise man with a manuscript of holy scriptures over two thousand years ago. According to Weng Chiang, the inhabitants of the village were very strange, but not eaters of human flesh. He assured me he could guide an expedition back to this village, and I organised an expedition to visit this area and search for the ancient manuscript".
From out in the hallway came a loud pounding, someone was attempting to rouse one of St. Etienne's neighbours. The pounding repeated followed by a slurring, drunken voice "Open up 'erbert, you owes me a pound ya bastard, I know ya there open up, I want me quid back" the drunken east ender knocked loudly on the door again, then staggered off down the hall muttering loudly about coming back later to collect his debt. The interruption over, my old companion resumed his tale.
"The Plains of Leng are a desolate, sparsely inhabited region in what had been, during the reign of the Western Zhou dynasty, the far north-eastern state of Bengwu. The journey through this blasted landscape was terrifying. At night we kept the campfires burning continuously, as wild animals of whose provenance I shudder to contemplate, howled and bayed in such a manner as to chill the blood. When we dared to sleep our rest was riven by nightmares of the most vivid, yet phantasmagorical malignancy. In time we reached the village, Yangzhou, which in ancient times was known as Kweilow, a village of poor peasant farmers whose ancestors had managed to eke out a sparse existence in the desolate region for thousands of years. The villagers were reluctant to let outsiders view the sacred manuscript, but with the incentive of the plentiful food supplies and trade goods we had gifted the village, and as a scholar of ancient religions I was allowed to study the manuscript, which of course was written in ancient Chinese, on the strict condition that I reveal no information on where I had encountered it. Over the course of many months I painstakingly made a detailed copy of all it contained."
St. Etienne again paused, filled his pipe and ignited it, drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs. I recognised the smell of Indian hemp this time, my old friend had, it appeared, developed a dependence on this drug as well as opium and liquor.
"My copy of the manuscript I had translated in Hong Kong, which you know, and it is here my tale really begins. It spoke of the Ancient Ones, a race of interstellar travelers, strange amphibious creatures, part animal, part vegetable that settled on earth millions of years before the rise of the primates. Their cities existed around the globe on land and undersea and only one of these cities actually still remains. A vast derelict stone city at the Antarctic concealed by a massive mountain range which dwarfs the Himalayas and the tallest known mountain ranges. The Ancient Ones created a race of slaves to assist in the construction of their Cyclopean stone cities, strange, nearly indestructible creatures known as Shoggoths, which were according to the Necronomicon: "Formless protoplasm able to mock and reflect all forms, organs and processes, viscous agglutinations of bubbling black cells, rubbery fifteen-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile, slaves of suggestion, builders of cities, more and more sullen, more and more intelligent, more and more amphibious, more and more imitative".
As St. Etienne interrupted his story to refill his glass, I thought to myself that this tale sounded suspiciously like the "Scientific Fiction" stories written by that Herbert George Wells chap, invaders from Mars and suchlike. After downing another measure of brandy my old friend continued.
"There is some vague suggestion that the Ancient One's experiments in the creation of a food source and a slave race may have inadvertently been responsible for the evolution of all terrestrial life. The Ancient Ones were ultimately devastated and wiped out by a Nameless Terror that dwells in an even bigger mountain range beyond the ancient city. The Shoggoths, possessed of great longevity, their lifespans measure in many thousands of years, survived this great catastrophe and many still dwelt in the subterranean caverns beneath the great derelict city in the frozen wastes. Liberated from the telepathic control of the Ancient Ones these survivors grew to great size, vast black cylindrical behemoths hundreds of feet in length. Many Shoggoths had taken human form after encountering primitive man and over the next few millennia they migrated into central Asia and settled in the desolate region known as the Plains of Leng. This humanoid offshoot were known as The Shoggothi, which ultimately divided into two opposing factions the K'than Shoggothi, the Cruel Ones, and the K'thuylgyr Shoggothi, the Benevolent Ones".
St. Etienne was again interrupted in his recollection, as Mrs. Barnstable clomped loudly through the hallway intent upon some errand, muttering drunken complaints and imprecations as she went.
"In 950 BC during the rule of the Western Zhou dynasty, the "Rain of Fire" occurred bearing the strange God, R'yloth K'than Shuggarath - The All-Knowing Beast, in proximity to a village on the Plains of Leng, Zhengyu. The K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang manuscript speaks of "Communion" with this "God" which confers ultimate spiritual knowledge on the recipient. The K'than Shoggothi were the high priests of the "Cursed Cult" which worshipped the strange creature from the stars, and as rumour told practiced human sacrifice to the alien God."
"When word of this strange new religion reached the Western Zhou Emperor Wu in his capital at Nanyang, he dispatched his soldiers to destroy this unearthly cult, it's diseased alien "God" and all it's disciples. The emperor's troops destroyed the monster and slaughtered most of the Shoggothi, K'than and K'thuylgyr alike, burning Zhengyu to the ground. Only thirteen Shoggothi managed to escape the slaughter, twelve K'than and one K'thuylgyr, Ling Chow. The K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang was lost to the K'than Shoggothi when the Zhou Emperor's soldiers pursued and drove them from China..."
St. Etienne's eyes closed and his head sank slowly down until his chin was resting on his chest, I thought he had fallen into an opium stupor but after a few seconds his heavy lidded eyes opened and he lifted his head and continued.
"Ling Chow the leader of the K'thuylgyr Shoggothi, who had gained possession of the K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang manuscript, was rescued, given shelter and hidden from the Emperor's troops by the inhabitants of Kweilow. He was opposed to the Cursed Cult of the K'than Shoggothi, it's hideous God and it's loathsome rites. Ling Chow sought to hide the K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang, the only surviving historical record of "his" race, from the remaining K'than..."
My friend's thoughts were beginning to falter (he had consumed enough opium, hemp and brandy to render most men comatose), and his tale became somewhat disjointed and rambling. I will relate the rest of this unbelievable tale from what I managed to decipher from his intoxicated ravings.
The K'than Shoggothi, now based in London (which are, according to St. Etienne, the same twelve K'than that survived the slaughter in 950 BC), discovered through their agents in Hong Kong that St Etienne had a copy and a translation of the K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang manuscript, which details the rituals and methods for resurrecting R'yloth K'than Shuggarath, the All Knowing Beast. Apparently the alien god can be reborn from an infusion of cells (which it seems can survive for thousands of years) from the original creature into a willing human host. To infect St. Etienne they used a small cutting of the original beast's flesh that had been preserved by the K'than. The rituals in the arcane manuscript summon the spirit of R'yloth K'than Shuggarath from the interstellar void and it possesses the fully transformed individual. They initiated St. Etienne into the cult and seduced him into becoming the conduit for this resurrection by promising him total spiritual enlightenment. For the dedicated seeker of enlightenment my old friend is, it was an opportunity he couldn't resist, as he was led to believe he would merely "channel" the spirit of R'yloth K'than Shuggarath in an elaborate "Ceremony" conducted with psychoactive drugs, chanting and musical rituals, much like the many pagan ceremonies he had taken part in. Apparently though he has discovered he is to literally become the returned god itself, he believes that he is being slowly transformed into the All Knowing Beast. He attempted suicide a number of times by taking massive doses of laudanum, although these attempts were ultimately unsuccessful, he believed, due to the alien cells infecting him. He believed his prodigious consumption of opium, laudanum and brandy was retarding the transformation process significantly, and in a last rational attempt at seeking medical assistance he had contacted me.
St. Etienne took a large draught of brandy, which seemed to focus his wandering thoughts somewhat, and he made a coherent statement that was chilling in context to what was to occur some weeks later.
"I fear Finch, that my insatiable appetite for spiritual enlightenment has led to what may prove to be an horrific, loathsome and unavoidable fate. I now believe it may be too late to halt the diabolical process once begun"
St. Etienne rose and unbuttoned his shirt and I was quite unprepared for the sight that I beheld. The skin of the man's torso was leached of its natural pigment, and had become semi-translucent, I could vaguely discern the organs within, and strange protuberances would stretch out the flesh briefly and then disappear. I examined the diseased area as closely as possible without touching it, due to the possibility of the affliction being contagious. I used one of my medical instruments to probe the afflicted flesh, it had a strange gelatinous consistency to it, coupled with a surface texture reminiscent of a snail or common slug. I had never encountered such a condition in all my years of medical practice. I carefully took a small cutting of the diseased skin from the man's torso and sealed it in a test tube which I placed in my medical bag. It seemed St. Etienne was only mildly discomfited by the procedure, probably due to the anaesthetic properties of the opium and liquor he had consumed. I hoped my esteemed colleague Doctor Wyatt, who had extensively studied rare tropical maladies in Burma and India, would be able to identify the condition afflicting my old friend. I urged St. Etienne to present himself at the nearest hospital immediately, not suspecting the hideous events which were to follow weeks later.
I was starting to feel distinctly lightheaded and I realised as the windows were tightly shuttered and the curtains drawn, the room was filled with a thick haze of opium and hemp smoke. I had to take my leave of my old friend or risk becoming stupefied by the drugs. I made my assurances that I would check up on him at my earliest convenience and bade St. Etienne farewell.
I contemplated hailing a cab but decided to walk so as to clear my head, and I pondered this strange tale as I made my way back to my surgery. How much, I wondered, of this fantastic story was fact and how much drug induced fantasy? St. Etienne was never the sort of fellow given to exaggerations or embellishments, he was one of the most rational and level-headed men I have ever known. His studies were dedicated to seeking ultimate truth, and I believed his discoveries on the accursed cult, it's arcane manuscript and what it allegedly contained were no exaggeration. But on his beliefs that he had been seduced by this degenerate cult of millennia old creatures to be the vessel for the return of their diseased god, I concluded that his prodigious consumption of opium, hemp and alcohol had led to a profound state of paranoid delusion, and he was at worst suffering from some extremely rare but entirely terrestrial disease he had contracted in the tropics. Little did I suspect that fate would conspire in such a cruel fashion to keep me from following up the strange disease afflicting my companion of old.