Chapter Three. At the House of the Black Lotus.
One week after my meeting with St. Etienne I had passed on the skin sample and a description of the malady afflicting the unfortunate American scholar to my associate Dr. Wyatt, who promised to examine the sample and contact me when he had a firm diagnosis. My wife Mary and I had planned an evening's diversion, we were going to attend a "Demonstration of Polyphase Electric Principles" by the esteemed inventor Nikola Tesla. As we were preparing to leave there was a knock at the door, a messenger boy, an elderly patient of mine Mr. Cromwell required immediate attention. This required a prompt revision of our plans, my younger brother Jonas who had recently returned from a trip to Scotland would escort Mary to Tesla's exhibition in my stead and I would meet them at the theatre after attending the ailing Cromwell. I was detained for longer than I had expected, and finally returned home in the early hours to find the house empty, my wife and brother had not returned. As I was preparing to visit the hospital, suspecting my pregnant wife may have had a turn, there was a loud knock at the door. I opened it to reveal two men. "Doctor James Finch?" enquired the taller of the two men, and I acknowledged this was indeed so. "Inspector Paxton, Scotland Yard, this is Sergeant Barnsley. Sorry to disturb you at this late hour Doctor but unfortunately we bear bad news, may we come in sir?" I bade them enter, with a sick feeling in my stomach, and showed them into the parlour.
"It is my unpleasant duty to inform you that there has been a terrible accident in which two people were fatally injured. I am sorry to say the young lady expired immediately, the young gentleman died a short time later in hospital." Paxton paused briefly before continuing. "I am sorry to report that a colleague of yours who was on duty at the hospital, has identified them conclusively as your wife, Mary Elizabeth Finch, and your brother Jonas Finch".
The breath went out of me, my vision momentarily darkened and I staggered as if struck by a physical blow. Sergeant Barnsley took my arm, steadied me and sat me in an armchair, my mind was reeling. Inspector Paxton poured a generous measure of brandy from the decanter on the table and handed it to me, I downed half the glass and Paxton continued, my wife and brother had been trying to hail a hansom cab after Tesla's demonstration (they had reasoned correctly that I had been held up at Cromwell's and were returning home). Paxton explained that they had been run down in the street by an out of control brewery dray, he didn't go into detail but as a physician I had seen, first hand, the results of accidents involving the heavy carts and large horses and I could not prevent my mind from picturing the horrific injuries resulting from these accidents.
The Inspector continued, "I regret sir that I must be the bearer of these tragic tidings, and I extend my deepest condolences. I understand this must be a profound shock, but if you are able I need to ask you a few questions of a sensitive nature", I nodded my assent. Paxton sat in the armchair opposite me and took a notebook and pencil from his jacket. The questioning began.
"You are associated with an American scholar by the name of Antoine St. Etienne?"
"I am" I replied.
"How did you come to be associated with this individual?"
"I met him in America at Miskatonic University where I studied medicine" Paxton favoured me with an enquiring look and I elaborated.
"Miskatonic University is in a town called Arkham, in the state of Massachusetts" Paxton nodded slowly as he noted this.
"You visited the American a week ago at his lodgings... (Paxton checked his notebook)...a boarding house run by one Mrs Barnstable?"
"I did. I was unaware he was in London until I received a message from him." I was having trouble keeping my mind focused on Paxton's enquiries.
"May I enquire as to what was discussed at that meeting?" Paxton continued.
"He told me of a recent expedition to China he undertook in search of an ancient religious manuscript"
As I answered Paxton's questions, I wondered what on earth this had to do with the tragic accident that had claimed my pregnant wife and younger brother. "I'm sorry Inspector but I don't understand the relevance of your questions as relates to the accident"
"As you may be aware a number of prostitutes have recently gone missing in the Whitechapel area and there is much public speculation on the return of the Ripper" Paxton replied.
I acknowledged that I had read the recent reports by the press but hadn't given the matter much thought. Paxton continued, "I don't subscribe to this theory as the modus operandi doesn't fit with the Ripper murders, no mutilated remains have been found, no remains at all or indeed any evidence that the women have in fact been murdered, they are until conclusively proved to be deceased, listed as missing persons only".
According to Paxton there had been another abduction the night before and there was a witness to the latest abduction, a night watchman had seen a young prostitute taken by a "Gang of Orientals", men who supposedly had "eyes of purest black". This witness had gone missing, he hadn't been seen since the night of the abduction.
"You say it was a tragic accident Inspector but the nature of your questions lead me to believe you suspect foul play?" I asked as Paxton paused briefly.
Barnsley revealed that a police informant had come forward claiming to possess information linking the abductions to the Chinese district, as well as two names: St. Etienne and myself. I was seen, apparently, leaving Mrs. Barnstable's rooming house, followed by a man of Oriental appearance who unbeknownst to me had followed me home. The informant had insisted he would only divulge the evidence he allegedly had to Inspector Paxton who was unavailable at the time. The man was sent on his way by the duty sergeant he spoke to, as he was known as being very unreliable and a serial time waster, and told to come back the next day to see Paxton. By the time Paxton was given this information, the headless corpse of the informant had been found floating in the Thames so he couldn't be questioned.
"This is not an uncommon fate for underworld informants, and is usually meant to send a warning to others" Paxton explained. "The damnedest thing was it looked as if the fellow's head had been chewed off by some wild animal, and the body was coated in a film of black slime." Barnsley observed.
Paxton explained that at the scene of the accident that had claimed my family members, a witness claimed to have seen two men of Oriental appearance with very strange eyes, and there was some suspicion that my wife and brother may have been pushed into the path of the runaway brewery dray, but there was no certainty, the witness could not be sure. This witness was under strict police protection. Paxton continued.
"All I have are damnable suspicions at the present, I'm afraid, no hard evidence and no possible suspects aside from the aforementioned men of Oriental appearance with strange eyes. My suspicions are that it was no accident and that you were the intended victim, as to why I cannot answer that as yet, but I believe it has something to do with your association with the American, if there is anything you can remember from your meeting that may have significance...?
"There was mention in the manuscript of a cult that practiced human sacrifice over two thousand years ago in ancient China". Paxton contemplated this.
"Anything else?"
"St. Etienne believes this cult still exists"
Paxton made an entry in his notebook.
I thought that an ancient cult that practiced human sacrifice which seemed to me at least to have some superficial significance, was plausible. But human sacrifice to a "God" that fell from the heavens? Had this deranged cult really existed? Could it still exist? Possibly so I allowed, but I couldn't bring myself to accept that it was made up of men that are two thousand, eight hundred and forty two years old, who aren't actually human at all, or that St. Etienne was in the process of transforming into an alien "God". I didn't think it would be prudent to mention my friend's more outrageous paranoid beliefs.
"I suspect it is part of a drug induced paranoid fantasy Inspector, nothing more. A product of prodigious consumption of opium, alcohol and Indian hemp, coupled with many years spent studying arcane and occult literature. You've established an Oriental connection, his belief may have some validity, why don't you question him yourself?"
"I should most like to question the man but it seems he has also disappeared. Three days after your meeting he was admitted to London hospital suffering from nervous exhaustion, delirium tremens, malnourishment, and in light of what you've told me probably opium withdrawal as well, although he was not immediately examined by a physician. He was observed leaving in the company of two Oriental gentlemen the same night and has not returned to his lodgings since. If he should contact you again..." he left the question unasked. "Of course Inspector I will inform you immediately" I replied.
Paxton closed his notebook and slipped it inside his jacket. He stood and spoke "That is all for now, I am sorry to have to question you at such an unfortunate time. Again my deepest condolences Doctor Finch" Paxton and Barnsley made their way to the door. "No need to get up sir, we will let ourselves out, my condolences also" said Barnsley. Paxton turned and addressed me "I would advise you to take care in public Doctor, I will assign two constables to watch your home and surgery round the clock. I don't wish to alarm you unduly yet I do believe that your life may be in jeopardy once the conspirators learn you weren't killed in the accident" and with that the two detectives left.
I got up, poured myself a generous measure of brandy and downed it in one swallow. My head was spinning, I was in a state of profound shock. I downed another brandy and another until the decanter was empty. The next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the open curtains and my head was pounding, I had obviously passed out still fully dressed, in the armchair. The bottle of vintage Kentucky bourbon I had brought back from America and carefully rationed to no more than three glasses annually, lay empty at my feet. What was I doing here passed out from a paralytic drunk in the parlour? Then it came back to me, Paxton and Barnsley's late night visit, the accident, Mary and Jonas. I broke down and wept uncontrollably.
Many friends and colleagues called to pay their respects in the weeks following the funerals, I existed in a semi morose state in this period, unable to clearly process the fact that the closest people to me in the world were taken from me in one cruel night. I found myself seeking the oblivion of alcohol far too regularly and I even had to dose myself with laudanum on a few occasions. The matter of St. Etienne was pushed to the back of my mind by these tragic circumstances. Two of my colleagues had taken over the care of my patients until I was recovered from my bereavement. A month after the funerals Dr. Wyatt called on me to pay his respects (He had been in Wales at the time of the funerals and had only just returned). At length the conversation turned to St. Etienne's strange malady, Dr. Wyatt had studied the skin sample at length, it was living tissue and shared some attributes with human skin, but he was emphatic in his belief that this "sample" had not been taken from a human being. "The damnedest thing is the wretched thing is still alive, immersed in formaldehyde, many weeks later. I do believe it is some mutant species of the common garden slug". Wyatt was convinced I had been the victim of an elaborate prank, a joke perpetrated by my old friend (a man definitely not given over to pranks and japes). I was unconvinced, I had seen the symptoms with my own eyes, no stage make-up could have duplicated what I had witnessed, I had cut the sample from his torso myself and what St. Etienne was suffering was entirely real, if unexplainable by modern science. My mind returned to Paxton's suspicions and I resolved to investigate the matter myself, I had to know if this damnable cult St. Etienne was involved with were responsible for the deaths of my loved ones.
My first avenue of investigation was St. Etienne's lodgings where I discovered he had still not returned. His objectionable landlady told me he hadn't been back to his room in weeks and owed her a considerable sum of money for the rent. Mrs. Barnstable's "housekeeping" skills were haphazard, her rooms were dirty and unkempt and although I could have raised some objection over the amount of back rent St. Etienne supposedly owed her, I paid her what she demanded, as I didn't have the energy or inclination to argue with the besotted woman over what to me were trifling amounts of money. I was glad to see the last of her, and would have happily paid twice the amount to still her shrewish tongue. Although my condition for paying the debt was my intention to inspect the room first, which Mrs. Barnstable assured me was still in the same condition in which my friend had left it.
I thoroughly searched my friend's room, but only a few insignificant personal trifles remained. As I was concluding that there were no clues to be found, I tripped over an unseen obstruction and upon closer inspection I noticed one of the floorboards was loose, it had obviously been removed and replaced, one corner of the board was sitting slightly above floor level and this is what had tripped me. I managed to prise it up with the aid of a stainless steel surgical implement from my medical bag, and discovered a cache of hidden papers labeled: "On R'yloth K'than Shuggarath and the motivations of the K'than Shoggothi" which I perused briefly before placing them in my medical bag. Of St. Etienne's reproduction and translation of the K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang manuscript, there was no sign.
My task complete I paid Mrs. Barnstable St. Etienne's outstanding rent and the landlady suggested disparagingly that I seek out my old friend in the Chinese district as he had often been known to consort with those "ignorant heathen savages". I couldn't resist the compulsion to reply "Those ignorant heathen savages as you call them madam, had a thriving civilisation and a rich culture when our ancestors were still squatting in mud huts with bones in their hair" and with that I turned and walked away, not wanting the vile woman to have the last word. I heard her mutter indignantly as I walked away "Well I never, these educated toffs prefer consorting with heathens and savages rather than honest, god fearing white folk" she stomped back into her slovenly establishment and slammed the door.
I returned home to study the notes for any clues as to the whereabouts of St. Etienne or the K'than Shoggothi. The notes were in no systematic order, references were randomly made with no notes to explain their context. Much of the notes were simply delusional ravings, some were an indecipherable scrawl and many passages were in a strange language. There were pages with pencil sketches of bizarre creatures.
"Met with Weng Chiang yesterday, I think I was followed. The Norwegian has fled, I suspect he has disposed of it by now, he will regret it when Weng Chiang sinks his sharp nailed talons into his treacherous, thieving, hide"
"The Shoggoth's (in their original form) share many characteristics with the All Knowing Beast, both species reproduce by fission, which leads me to suspect a common ancestry? The Shoggothi in human form have lost the ability to reproduce."
The following lines and translations were on different pages of the notes, the first line is of a different language than the second two, which I assumed was the language of the K'than Shoggothi, as they contain a definite Chinese element. Nothing in the notes explains who or what the exact nature of dead Cthulhu or his Spawn might be, nor where sunken R'lyeh may lie. One of the pencil sketches is of the head of a creature with an octopoid appearance, pulpy and rounded, two inhuman eyes and a profusion of short tentacles in place of a mouth. The sketch is labeled K'thuy'lhu, obviously Cthulhu.
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."
"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming."
"kya'rashloth thalgyr Tsang'kei R'lyeh tza'aloth K'thuy'lhu"
"To destroy the sleeping Cthulhu in sunken R'lyeh."
"Ry'aku Ky'ang shuylgyr K'thuy'lhu shogxi Kzei'tha'han chi'aaxu kangtkai"
"A terrible War between the Ancient Ones and the Cthulhu Spawn"
There were more pencil sketches on the following pages. St. Etienne was a talented sketch artist and although these were obviously reproductions of images from the K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang manuscript, they were finely detailed and expertly shaded. I had to admire my friend's talent, the sketches had an almost photographic quality about them. One pictured a similar looking creature to the K'thuy'lhu sketch, though this sketch was of a skeletal structure, a rounded skull with two cavernous eye sockets. In place of the tentacles of K'thuy'lhu, this creature had a long, ribbed, tube-like proboscis. Another delicately shaded sketch portrayed a very bizarre, eyeless creature, a domed head above a powerful set of jaws ringed by vicious looking teeth, in the middle of which seemed to be a set of inner jaws complete with its own set of teeth, the upper torso appeared exoskeletal from which protruded strange tubes. There was also a beautifully detailed sketch of the face of an Asian man with jet black eyes, a representation of a K'than Shoggothi.
The following passage on the last page recalled to mind when as a young intern at London Hospital, I had been in the audience when Dr. Treves had first presented the profoundly malformed Joseph Merrick to his colleagues.
I suspect the severe malformation and deformities of the body afflicting the unfortunate Joseph Merrick (more commonly known as "The Elephant Man") were the result of the Shoggothi's earlier experiments in attempting to resurrect R'yloth K'than Shuggarath using Merrick's pregnant mother as a "Vessel", without the proper rituals detailed in the "K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang". Would that I could have examined the poor fellow myself before his untimely demise."
I found a scrawled notation at the bottom of the last page which mentioned the House of the Black Lotus, (which I assumed was an opium den) and a name: Liu T'sing. I had what I needed. I quote the last passage of this document, which I found quite chilling, especially in the context of my old friend's staunch atheism.
"Would but that I had faith that the cruciform icon depicting the slain Nazarene would prove an effective protection against the profane desecration of one's will, mind and body, nor provide an impenetrable barrier against the debased malignancy of this star spawned monstrosity. Not so, as in the Gothic tales of Stoker and Le Fanu, wherein Christian faith and Holy iconography can stand against the forces of Darkness and Evil, the Gods of humanity can provide no succour, no defence against R'yloth K'than Shuggarath or indeed any of the Elder Gods from the void detailed in that accursed tome The Necronomicon".
I pondered on what would be the best course of action, should I take the notes to Paxton? Obviously that would be the most prudent step, but what they contained was so fantastical I doubted he would take any of it seriously, the notes read as nothing more than an elaborate Scientific Fiction fantasy tale, he would think me mad. I resolved to investigate the House of the Black Lotus myself for any sign of St. Etienne, and any evidence that these deranged cultists were responsible for the murders of my wife, my unborn child and my brother, or the Whitechapel abductions. Once I had such evidence as may be found I would present it to Inspector Paxton. Heeding Paxton's warning, I decided that a disguise would be a wise measure to take. I sought out the assistance of a former patient of mine, a theatrical performer, and he disguised my appearance by shaving my head bald, adding a large handlebar moustache and prodigious mutton chop whiskers. I didn't recognise myself in the mirror, the baldness coupled with the facial hair added ten years to my normally youthful appearance.
Suitably disguised, I traveled to the Chinese district and made enquiries as to the location of Liu T'sing's establishment. The reaction elicited from the local inhabitants and merchants when I mentioned the opium den surprised me, they would fix me with a dark look, make a sign as if to ward off evil and scurry away muttering. I saw a tall Nordic sailor walk out of a restaurant and upon enquiring if he knew the whereabouts of the opium den, the jovial mariner gave me precise directions on how to reach the House of the Black Lotus. It was late afternoon when I made my way through what I discovered to be a very ancient district of London, The Black Mews. Neglected, befouled, mouldering and feculent, an ancient sector of our modern city that had fallen into squalid decrepitude and degeneracy.
The begrimed cobbled streets and drainage channels appeared to date back to Roman times, whilst the houses and establishments were of Tudor design. The architecture though recognisable, had a slightly strange appearance and I realised as I made my way that the geometries involved were slightly off kilter, the whole place had a distinctly unappealing cast to it. I passed by what I thought to be a tavern, the sign above this establishment was written in a foreign language, possibly of Slavic origin. No sounds of laughter or drunken revelry issued forth from this establishment, only very strange music and a repellent, monotone singing that was almost chanting, in a strange language I didn't recognise. I can't explain why, but the strange music left me with the distinct impression of great antiquity.
The denizens of this borough were quite disturbing in aspect, ill featured and misshapen. I observed that even though the Mews was geographically located within the Chinese district, they didn't appear to be Chinese at all, it seemed that the venerable citizens of Chinatown shunned this diseased place. Many of the local residents were descendants of some debased form of hybrid race, almost pre-human. All the races of men seemed represented in the strange features of the sullen, morose faces I saw, but these features were wildly disfigured, such as eyes being set too far apart, mouths either too large or too small, jagged teeth that protruded from closed mouths, noses and ears that were small and atrophied, skulls that seemed too large for the thin necks to support. Obviously there had been many generations of inbreeding amongst the debased inhabitants of The Black Mews. It was then I noticed something common to a certain type of resident of this degenerate sector, something at once familiar and at the same time like nothing I had ever seen. These ill favoured men and women were very pale, they had broad, flat-featured faces, tiny atrophied ears, noses that were no more than a flat slightly raised protrusion with two small holes. They had bulging eyes and thick rubbery lips, and I realised as I observed them that it was a piscine quality in these faces that I had recognised, their features suggested some unspeakable, antediluvian amphibian hybrid. The quiet in this queer borough was unnerving, no children were playing and laughing in the streets, and the eyes of the malformed inhabitants observed me suspiciously as I passed. Blowzy, sullen, misproportioned women sat in the doorways of houses built many centuries past, cradling their silent, misbegotten, toad faced infants, whilst cadaverous, emaciated men of ill countenance squatted nearby smoking cigarettes and passing liquor bottles back and forth. A few fly-blown, mangy dogs of no breed I was familiar with roamed the streets digging through piles of garbage and fighting over the rotting remnants they uncovered.
A black robed figure holding a long staff watched me pass by from within a shadowed doorway, where it stood vigil like some mysterious sentry. Underneath the large black hat it wore was one of those strange birdlike masks with long beaks that physicians wore in the time of the Black Plague when "treating" their patients. The long beak of these masks were filled with aromatic herbs to counteract the foetor of the plague victims and also I supposed the miasma from the open sewer that London was in those dark times. An icy cold feeling suffused through my body as an image of the victims of the horrific pestilence formed unbidden in my mind. I fancied I could see their rotting, diseased visages as they stirred and writhed in the foul corruption of the charnel house plague pits that undoubtedly lay beneath the ancient district and I shivered involuntarily as I continued my journey, fortifying my resolve as I concentrated forcefully on the task ahead.
It was with a palpable sense of relief that I finally reached the street in which the House of the Black Lotus was situated. I rapped loudly on the door, realising with a shudder of distaste that I would have to make my way back through this loathsome quarter at night and was glad I had brought my revolver for protection. The door opened and I was ushered through by an ancient, stooped Chinese fellow, Liu T'sing, the elderly proprietor of the opium den. The acrid smell of burning opium stung my nostrils as I followed the hobbling elderly Oriental chap through a maze of narrow corridors. I was sure the old fellow was blind as he wore blacked out spectacles, such as those worn by people who had lost their eyes in traumatic accident, but he seemed to have no trouble navigating the maze of corridors inside his establishment. He showed me to a small room in which lay a small settee and table containing pipe and brazier, along with a small jug of water and a glass. I hung up my coat and hat and made myself comfortable as Liu T'sing returned with a ball of opium. I paid him the requisite fee, assured him I desired no assistance only privacy and the elderly Chinese man left. I prepared a pipe, reclined and ignited the opium in case I was being watched, although I avoided drawing the smoke into my lungs, I couldn't afford to be intoxicated whilst investigating.
Some twenty minutes later there was a commotion in the corridor outside, it sounded like many men bearing a heavy burden. I fancied I could hear muffled yells, a feminine voice. As they passed I opened the door the merest crack and peered out to see a party of oriental chaps bearing a large, trussed burden disappear around a corner. I checked but the corridor was empty, I slipped out of my room and followed at a discreet distance, if challenged I would say I was looking for the privy. They entered what appeared to be a storage room. I listened at the door but the room beyond was silent, drawing a deep breath I opened the door, but the storage room was quite empty. The door I had entered was the only exit from the room, it appeared they had vanished into thin air.
I discovered one of the wall panels sounded hollow when I rapped on it and it slid open to reveal a cramped wooden stairway. I followed this down and made my way through a corridor which opened onto a small room, at the far end of which were two open heavy wooden doors, the entrance of a chamber, an ancient Roman catacomb paneled in wood, with a long raised wooden dais scattered with silk cushions. Many silk hangings decorated the walls, bearing strange symbols some of which I recognised from St. Etienne's notes, interspersed with Chinese characters. A large stone altar carved with the same symbols and glyphs dominated the centre of what I realised was a temple. A metre beyond the stone altar the rest of the temple was screened off by more of the silk hangings, whatever lay beyond was hidden from sight.
A thick, noxious miasma was about the chamber, a hint of mold, a touch of putrefaction, a wet earth smell mixed with rotting vegetable matter. Just inside the entrance to the wooden "temple" were stacked a large number of barrels, and it was here that I concealed myself to observe the hideous events which were to follow.
A few minutes later a barred wooden door enclosing a small anteroom inside the chamber opened and twelve silk-robed Chinese men entered the temple (the men's appearance seemed very strange and I realised as I observed them that their eyes were a uniform deep black, no white could be seen), these were the K'than Shoggothi. They led their unfortunate abductee into the large chamber. The woman, now clad only in a silk robe, seemed meek and unresisting, possibly she had been dosed with opium or laudanum. She was left standing in front of the elaborately decorated silk hangings that screened off half the chamber.
Eleven of the Shoggothi filed onto the raised dais containing what appeared to be musical instruments, though quite unlike any earthly musical instruments I was familiar with, the strange shapes and contours of these instruments were disturbing to the eye and as the Shoggothi orchestra tuned their arcane musical devices, the air was filled by bizarre and unearthly notes which seemed to intertwine sinuously and aggressively as they faded out. From my concealed vantage point I saw the twelfth Shoggothi,the "priest" stood before the stone altar, a document before him, (this I surmised was St. Etienne's faithful copy of the original K'than K'shaloth Ssaiyang manuscript). The "priest" began to intone a ritual from the ancient manuscript as the Shoggothi orchestra began to play a repetitive, rhythmical, one note refrain. He chanted loudly: "R'yloth kya'rashloth. R'yloth Kantaku. R'yloth Kuy'aku. R'yloth kansala K'yang". The woman's eyes were closed and her body seemed to sway in time with the strange alien rhythms. The priest opened the silk robe exposing her voluptuous naked body and painted alien symbols on it in black ink.
Once the "priest" had finished covering the woman's exposed flesh with the alien symbols, the Shoggothi musicians transformed the simple one note, rhythmic refrain into complex multi tonal patterns and vocalisations. An inhuman chorus interweaving jagged, insane melodies with dissonant, alien harmonies, notes of a diabolic scale never intended for the ears of humanity. A hideous symphony of unearthly instruments, over which the choir of the damned sang a dirge-like alien hymn:
"Ay'oshog yarzath T'kanth nyarloth Z'haal shuylgyr, thog kay'an Bth'yaal Kuthul abshoggi, kansala sikthayok R'yuthan K'yang kya'rashloth. R'yloth N'yarl abshoggi, R'yloth Kantaku shuylgyr. K'than shuylgir tr'hhn."
The alien music formed an almost physical presence in the chamber, summoned from the eternal black void by this unholy orchestra, it threatened to overwhelm my senses with madness, its infernal vibrations that tore at my soul that sought to imprison my sanity and reason in the discordant frequencies of its noisome obscenity.
At that moment something emerged from behind the elaborately decorated silk hangings, a semi-rigid, translucent appendage as thick as a man's arm, another emerged, and another seemingly groping blindly about until they encountered the partially disrobed woman. The appendages wrapped sinuously about the woman, almost caressing the body, leaving glistening slime trails on the pale flesh painted with the strange symbols. The woman seemed to come out of her hypnotic state and began screaming as the appendages dragged her toward whatever was concealed behind the silk screens. The screams continued as she disappeared from view and there came a hideous wet squelching, sucking sound, the screams becoming muffled and indistinct. I had my revolver, should I go to the poor woman's aid? My mind had become clouded and I was left in a state of confusion by the abhorrent alien "music". I blocked my ears with my hands and mentally recited multiplication tables until the confusion eased somewhat. Undoubtedly, I reasoned, the Shoggothi would stop me before I could render any assistance, and as I had only five rounds, I decided to seek out Paxton and Barnsley and return with reinforcements. I slipped out of my concealed vantage point and returned along the corridor to the hidden stairway. St. Etienne had not been suffering paranoid delusions about the profane cult and its grotesque rituals at least. Some of what he spoke of was true and I thought it likely that he was imprisoned somewhere in this den of horror.