The Old Ones…The Human Old Ones

This Weeks Prompt: 31. Prehistoric man preserved in Siberian ice. (See Winchell—Walks and Talks in the Geological field—p. 156 et seq.)

The Resulting Story:At the Bottom Of The World

Finding textbooks is getting easier and easier my friends. Sadly, what exactly caught Mr. Lovecraft’s eye in Walks and Talks is unknown to me. The source I used can be found here, and seems to be dealing with the distribution of iron veins across multiple strata. It might relate to the lodestone, given the lodestone’s association with arctic locales. But given that it seems a bit distant, and obscure, we’ll focus on the other trope. The frozen caveman.

The frozen caveman (unfrozen for our amusement) is a trope of television that is primarily the realm of comedy. Hence finding people frozen for their preservation in places like Scooby Doo, Futurama, and Austin Powers. But clearly there was something frightening about such a being to Mr. Lovecraft, and to explain that we’re going to have to look at the nature of time and ‘evolution’.

I don’t mean ‘evolution’ as in the biological process of change over time on a massive scale. That is another discussion. I mean the more classic model of human change often accepted in the ancient world, the progress of Golden Age to Iron Age (back to Golden Age sometimes). These epochs are marked by mass changes in size and power and intellect, with mankind often shrinking in every capacity as time goes on. Occasionally there are tales of men from past time coming forth, and being revered for their older better ways. Ogier the Dane and Muchukunda.

There are exceptions, of course. The Aztec passage of deities does not include a continuity, but rather a violent termination of each world by one or another of the gods, and the creation of animals instead of simply declining. In fact, the Aztec cosmos has a world where in man is growing more refined instead of weaker.
This theory of spiritual evolution had growing popularity in Lovecraft’s time, with the arrival of both Theosphany and the increasingly prevalent notions of eugenics. The past ancestors of mankind, as presented by pulp fiction authors of the era, where either alien in form and mind or inhabited an untamed and alien world. This is where we might find some of our horror, in the savagery of the past, but we discussed the problems (and strangeness) of that prehuman path here. Likewise, the snake men, who are often placed in the past of mankind were discussed here as a possibility.
So what does that leave us, for describing the shape of a plot? We fundamentally have a story of two worlds meeting, albeit separated by the gulf of time rather than of space. This disturbs both (well, barring time travel, it disturbs the one) and things begin to fall apart. How and why is then the questions.
Well, we are left with two possibilities. The one is a story where we sit as we normally do, as moderns observing the behavior of a discovered savage. Here, perhaps, the horror is formed like a monster story. We are concerned with a monster that is a man, almost a slasher film on the page.
Alternatively, we examine the discovery of a savages…well, savageness. If we begin with believers in the Five Ages of Man, then it is horrifying to find how cruel and monstrous humanities origins are relative to their expectations (we could attempt this with our modern understandings, and the numerous species of the homo genus we have, but that would be far less entertaining and frankly significantly harder). This basic outline could also be reversed, with the discovery of some primeval Adam or Eve that was as noble and civilized as the ancients would have expected being discovered by moderns looking for monsters.
Finally, there is the perspective of the awakened one. Either as a most noble ancestor shocked at the decline all around him (again, Muchukunda is more than applicable here) or the primitive ancestor horrified at the strange and noisy sights around him as modern technology is quite terrifying to the unawares.
Of these, the middle seems the most interesting. A ‘noble’ ancestor can be horrifying in unexpected ways, alarming moderns with antiquated ideas of proper behavior or with their bizarre physiology (drawing from Muchukunda’s accidental annihilation of a man with his mere gaze). There is something more horrifying about a well meaning monster. There always hope of relief from monsters and beasts, that some salvation will come in the form of civilizing endeavors. But when the opposition is the more ‘civilized’, than things are strained. When a demon comes, there is always hope an angel will arrive. When an angel comes, there is little refuge left.
That is what I will be starting with then. An ancient ancestor of a stranger, more noble sort. Constructing that sort of entity without treading into Theosphany’s imperialism or racism will be tricky if one wants to avoid going completely alien. But we will try. Multiple subjects might be better.

This? Hopefully not this. I mean, good movie. But still.

What ideas do you have from this prompt? What lies beneath the Siberiean ice for you?

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The Mansion of the Moon

This Week’s Prompt:30. Strange visit to a place at night—moonlight—castle of great magnificence etc. Daylight shews either abandonment or unrecognisable ruins—perhaps of vast antiquity.

The Research: THE MOON

“Why do we go on these walks?” Rene asked, as he and Soren continued down the dirt path. The forest was awash in a sea of mist that night. The moon was large and luminous overhead, a bright yellow harvest sigil.

“I go on them, because the poets talk about fog and futures and truth coming on long walks in nature,” Soren said with shrug as she continued onwards, “You come along to ruin the mystery.”

“You don’t need cold evening walks to find stuff like truth.” Rene moaned. “We could come here during the day. Or during the summer. Or we could go to somewhere warmer, like a nice coffee house. You could find your sublime there, or at a pub, or not in the woods filled with fog after a rainy day.”

“The sublime suprises you! You can’t find inspiration in the terrifying and wonderful at a pub.” Soren said waving her hands around.

“There’s terrifying stuff at pubs and coffee houses. Writers and drunks, and drunk writers. If this sublime is everywhere, it can be in comfortable places.”

“We’ll go to a pub later. For now, just enjoy the change in scenery.”

“It’s the same woods as in the morning.”

“The lighting changes everything. Like, that! Look, never seen that on this track before.” Soren said, poitning in the distance. A couple miles away there was a pale shining light, a small moon amongst the trees.

“No…we haven’t.” Rene conceded. As the drew closer, the light seemed to cyrstalize into a large manor. Pillars rose from the dirt, covered in well kept ivory. Statues held the platform’s atop. The windows shone like stars in the night sky. Wolven gargoyles lay at the gate, guarding it against intruders.

“But how didn’t we?” Rene asked, looking about.

“Maybe we took a different turn this time.” Soren said with a shurg. “We should go inside.”

“I…I think that’d be trespassing,” Rene said, reaching out and touching the iron gate around it. Despite the shimmering light around it, it was solid to the touch.

“True enough. I guess we should come back during the day.” Soren said, stepping back and staring at the manor. Not a single thing seemed to move in it’s windows, not a bit of bright ivy shook in the wind. Instead it stood stoic and solid, a pale pillar beneath the brilliant yellow moon.

“Yeah. Wonder how they got it to glow like this.” Rene said, flicking the gate again. The iron gave a satisfying ring as they turned and left down the stone road, into the foggy night once more.

As promised, the two met the next day at noon. It was silent, as the birds long ago went down with the winter. The snow on the ground was more expansive, a vast white plain stretching on either side of the dark brown dirt road.

“Are you sure this is the right fork?”

“It’s the same road.”

“But the lights different! Things look different at night.”

“Well, we’ll know. If we picked the wrong trail, we can go on another one later. Its not like it’s a big woods.”

“No, there,” Soren said, pointing, “there’s the hill it was on.”

“I don’t see the light though.” Rene said, moving swiftly toward the spot. And sure enough, there was nothing glowing. Rather, there were the remains of of a wall, some bricks stacked on each other. Easily stepping over, the two investigated the remains. Here, where once pillars proudly stood were the remains of cracked bases. Where windows once gleamed, now there were shards of glass. The hand of a statue was buried under some of the snow.

“How…” Rene said, leaning over the hand, examining it closely.

“Who’s to say? It must have been a trick of the night.” Soren said, looking about. “The sublime comes once, like lightining is glimpsed and –”

“It must be only at night,” Rene interrupted, looking around.

“What?”

“The missing condition. At night. Let’s try again tonight.” Rene said, frowning, crevases forming on his brow.

And they did. It was again foggy that night. The sun was pale, lacking it’s old yellow. And they went along that trail. But ruins still remained. Rubble and the crumbling corpse of the original building. Rene paced it’s perimeter carefully, occasionally kicking up the snow.

“Must be full moons only? Or maybe, once a week?”

Soren frowned, but agreed again to come back next week to the same spot. And agreed to try again at the next full moon. And then on the same day the next month, then on the same number of moons since the start of the lunar year, then the next day equa-distant form the solstice or equinox, then on the day that was next in the cycle from the full moon, the next harvest moon, then the next full moon after that harvest moon and so on.

Rene started digging deeper and deeper. The house burned down decades ago, it seemed, although how many times was unclear. It was abandoned. Not a single ghost trail mentioned, not a single traveler besides Rene and Soren claimed to have ever seen it late at night, decked in the moonlight. But Rene kept digging deeper and deeper.

Time passed, and each time the ruin remained. Soren confided in her friend that the house was gone forever, but could tell it made no difference. Rene would head out at the same time, although according to different measures, every night. Even during the day, he would spend hours without Soren, staring into the iron gate. Waiting for it to return.

Soren tried other routes, but Rene twitched and grew irritable when taken from the moon lit path. When Rene told the story of the mansion, Soren heard a longing in his voice. As if he were describing a lost pet or dead friend. Something mysterious and magical that slipped through his finger, and if only, if only Rene said, he knew the combination he could get back again. He could see that pale moonlight in the woods again.

Well, I can’t say I’m proud of this one. The vague outline might have worked as a b-story in another work, but I couldn’t quite get a conflict going. The characters are also a bit flat. Despite the extra time being finals free has given me, it just didn’t click. What about you? Did you achieve greater success with your stories?

Next week, we will discuss pre-humanity, the starts of humanity, and the preservation of the past in icy tombs!

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THE MOON

This Week’s Prompt: 30. Strange visit to a place at night—moonlight—castle of great magnificence etc. Daylight shews either abandonment or unrecognisable ruins—perhaps of vast antiquity.

The Resulting Story: The Mansion of the Moon

The Moon. The Moon, majestic mighty Luna. That, my fellows, is what strikes me most from this prompt. The Moon is one of the greatest and largest forces in the heavens. As such, it’s form and meanings are vast and numerous. We will begin with a few folkloric examples (of multitudes), as well as a few mythic divinities, and of course some more popular recent examples.

The Moon has almost always belonged to the wild places. The moon is a shifting changing thing, and this change has been known for quite some time, particularly in contrast to the more constant rising sun. The pair are often persented as opposites in one regard or the other: in southern Mexico, the Moon is Mary to the Sun-Chirst. Diana and Apollo likewise stand as opposites, in gender and attitude (Diana being a huntress of the wild, Apollo the patron of arts and civilization).

The Moon has it’s animals as well. The rabbit of the moon is a vast cornucopia of forms, from China to the Aztec empire. The reason behind the rabbit changes, admittedly, but often involves some form of self sacrifice (failed or otherwise). The owl, with it’s circular white face and nightly habits, makes an important contrast with the eagle of the sun. In the Near East, the Bull comes forward as a lunar creature as well, tied to the necessary sacrifice to the gods.

This changing nature of the Moon also gives the moon a reputation for shifting nature and illusion, and by extension madness. Among gods, we can see a number of sorcerer gods associated with the Moon. Thoth of Egypt, Kalfu, and Huitica as examples. The Tarot Card of the Moon reflects this uncertainty and changing state. On either side are twin towers, a wolf and a domestic dog, and across from the moon is an amphibious crab crossing from sea to land. The moon violates and warps divisions, it transcends and works between them.

Several of theses, such as Thoth and Chang’e, are further associated with the transformative powers of alchemy. While the Sun plays a more obvious role in Alchemy symbolism, the moon plays an equal role. The synergy between silver and gold in the philospher stone, the combinging of the fundamental masculine and feminine is key for ‘true’ divinity.

The association with madness, however, runs deeper. In English we maintain the notions of insanity tied to the moon with words like lunacy or moonstruck. The full moon is a time between things, an imitation of the sun in a strange way. The wolves howl at the moon then, and in Europe some trade shapes with men. The moon, as delightful as it can be in it’s blurring of borders, can also dangerous. Some borders exist for a reason. Confusion and chaos inspire dread when taken to far. After all, when dreams and reality become blurred, nightmares come to life again.

This is the heart of the solar-lunar conflict, it seems. The Moon blurs what the sun would define. Here, in the prompt, this is a clear under current. The moon shows a vision of a glorious past that is no longer, the sun forcibly reasserting reality. And that conflict, between reality as objective moving phenomon vs reality as a shifting moment, swinging back and forth, perceived and understood differently through many minds, is a rich one. I would recommend looking into Moon Hunters, a game that deals with these themes and others in interesting ways.

After all, the famous opening of the Call of Cthulhu warns us about the boundaries of objective knowledge: “The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age. “ We cannot deny that there is discomfort in uncertainty, that contradiction (especially as large as a castle) of what seems apparent has a hint of madness and horror about it.

The nature of this dichotomy informs the story we must weave, however. As tempting as it is to invoke the moonbeast or the temple of the moon in the Dreamlands, these are unnecessary and may weigh down the plot. Besides, we had plenty of monsters in our last few works. No, this one will flirt with unreality and uncertainty. This we will have almost certainly no non-human characters (except the moon and castle themselves).

This might be a bit distracting, after all. Credit to King of Rats: http://kingovrats.deviantart.com/

Proceeding from that, the first thing that I can think of with the prompt is obsession. An obsession with finding a lost paradise is a common trope, and one that I think can work well here. The nature of moonlight and madness would add to this. I wonder now, is the castle inhabited? Or is this mystical castle by itself enough to lure someone in?

Who, further, would be enticed by the castle? Someone, no doubt, who wishes to escape. A romantic, probably. The sort that are prone to being moonstruck and caught up in memories of the past. Of course, that sort of obvious choice is a good reason to avoid it. Making a man who is normally scientific, normally a futurist, normally despising the preciousness of nostalgia fall into such a trap would be all the more enticing. Cognitive dissonance is a strong motivator, after all.

I think a romantic uninterested would make a good counterpoint. The unenchanted seeker and the disillusioned fool is a pairing I’m unfamiliar with. The interactions before and after seeing the ruins would be the dynamo of the story.

I’ll start there then. What story have you found among the ruins and the dead?

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Down Below

This Week’s Prompt: 29. Dream of Seekonk—ebbing tide—bolt from sky—exodus from Providence—fall of Congregational dome.

The Research: Rhode Island and More!

There were less of us when I woke up. The lower part of the ship had a great gash in it when I woke up. At the end of the ship, leering out of the waters, was a misshapen man with spindly arms and legs attached to a corpulent bag of flesh. There was a white man’s captain cap atop his ball of blue flesh head. His teeth were stained with red blood and strains of gore. The midsection of a man was in his hands, like some bloated brown fruit.

I rose to run slowly, feeling the iron around my feet pulling me down ever so slightly. Following the chain with my eyes, I saw it’s end in a broken off leg near the monster’s maw. The beast, were it aware of my wakefulness, could with a twist pull me down into the oceanic depths. Slowly, I retreat. Step by step I withdraw upward. The pale demon tilts its head at the scratching of the iron on the wooden floors.

Breath flows easily as the creature resumes it’s putrid feasting. I test the links of the chain as the steps are at last in view. They are, sadly, firmly in place. I search about for something, anything to break it with. And there, against the supports, is a solution. A well worn blasting spear the men had carried, to be safe from pirates. Attached to it’s end is a long dagger that, with effort, could pry me free. With a bit of work, I figured I’d pry myself free. I flung my self down toward the support, grabbing the butt of the spear.

The cutting causes sparks and scratches. I move slow then swift as the bone crunching below overwhelms around me. Escape drives me more certainly then shock can hold me. It takes some sawing, long enough for the energy to start slowing. At last I cut through, and slip free from the first set of fetters. The clack of the chain on the floor gives me away, and the beastial thing turns to me.

It roars and I run, wet sloshing steps behind me. I run up to the deck, turning to see blue arms stretching out from below, spider fingers clawing about about for a lost fly. I stumble backward, overboard, onto a sandy shore. Chunks of blue rock shine in the sunlight. In the distance, the green starts to form on hills. The old island, from what I can see, is several hundred feet away. As I stair, there’s a sudden flash. Lighting on a clear day, dashing down from nowhere and scattering trees on the island. What could it be?

The alternative is back into the sea, where ghosts and serpents dwell. And around me feet fetters of steel still remain. So I march ahead, hoping beyond hope to find some release or at least relief on the strange island. I made out a great dome over the shore. I’d head there first, see if in the house of the gods some release could be felt. The island is like a dark green hill rising out of the desert, with a glimmering dome shining as a lighthouse for lost travelers.

I nearly collapsed after scaling the limestone walls along the shore. The trees a few feet away were dark, thickly rooted things with pale green leaves. I slouched against one to rest, the sun high in the sky as I took in deep breathes. I stare wistfully over the valley and the ebbing tide. From here, it seems almost still. Every now and again some movement disturbs the sand or sea, but it is only a flicker or ripple on a lake. My eyes grew heavy, and bit by bit I began to fall away.

When I awoke, the sky was red. The sun had finished it’s journey west, it seemed. I was dizzy as I tried to stand, pulling myself up by the branches. The stars would come soon, and I would rather not learn the ways of the wood by night. No, no, I’d make my way through now as best I could. There was a foul smell in the air, a feeling of doom rising from the earth. The wind was more like waves of water pushing at a swimmer than the cool gentle breeze I had hoped for.

The city was dimmly visible through the trees, so I again made my way towards human civilization. At least, I wanted to believe it was human. The things on the ship and shore seemed certainly strong. Perhaps some had returned, or made their way up the shore in search of prey. But that sort of thinking is what damns a man to a lonely and forgotten death.

As I mulled it over, I saw something run in the woods. Short and pale, it flickered between the trees. Then again it came, another thing rushing, scampering and small between trees in the shadows of the setting sun. Pale and white as the moon, it goes again and again. I hold still for a moment, curious and afraid. Slowly, I grab a large fallen branch by the roots of an aged tree.

“Hello?” I ask carefully, waiting with bated breathe for the invariable out cry. There is a noise, a crack of branches above me. I raise my eyes to the heavens, and a small girl looks down, dressed in all white. She is as pale as flour, and smiles showing a pair of viscous fangs. Drips of red blood drop down. Another child falls onto the branch next to here. He is dressed in the black of white men on sunday. His face is dour and grim, but red lines flow from the edges of his pale lips.

They dropped down, screeching like struck cats. I whacked the girl as hard as I could, before the boy pounced on me. He tried to bite down on my arm, but I managed to pry him off before he got anywhere. I toppled over as the girl gripped my legs, having recovered from the blow. I began to crawl back, kicking as best I could with my iron fetters. There was a crunch and the strange girl went back a bit. As the two recovered, I took my moment and started again toward the city in the dark. The sun was gone now, the stars and moon shining down.

I heard the children howling as I ran. More figures moved in the forest, pushing me onwards. But as the city roads came into view, by some Providence, they began to slow. In fact, after passing a few houses, they stopped entirely. In Providence, there was not a sign of the strange pale men and their bloody maws. At first I thought the city was abandoned, that some strange plague had swept through or some terrible rain or drought had driven out all the inhabitants. But I found them.

I found them gathered in a crowd before the church. They were a pitiful lot. Their clothes were not only ragged, but clearly had once by greater and more beautiful. Red jackets stained with mud and wear, broken banners of doubled crosses. At their front was a man dressed in black with a tall hat, holding a dimly lit torch.

He was saying something, waving his arms in wide gestures. The crowd seemed eager when he pointed east and shook his fist. I did not understand a word of it. But his face grew red, and he grew louder and louder. The man in black began to bellow, now turning his attentions to the heaven. It lasted for but a moment. And then his rage vanished and became pleeding. He collapsed to his knees, a supplicant to some unseen king, and spoke softly. I began to back away, fearing the crowd lead by a man who threatens and begs with the same breath.

As I considered where I might hide, amonst the woods or houses, there was a crack like thunder. I turned towards the source, the great shining dome of moonlight above the towns temple. The crowd stared silently as it began to buckle and break. Smoke black as basalt began to billow out, green light shining within the church. A fire must have begun within, but the noises that came rushing forth were not of crackling woods or breaking bones. No, a shrieking rage came roaring from the dome. Innumerable hands came forth, with axes and spears and guns. Out came a ghastly host, born on raven wings, with a hundred arms and a hundred faces, with women and men in equal number. The apparition towered over the crowd, it’s eyes glowing red through the miasma around it.

I knew then this was what kept the sea and forest at bay. This great unclean thing, with jaws and limbs to rend earth and sky. As it descended down onto the crowd, there was a sudden silence. All was undone in that moment. I hid on that island for years, untouched by that strange thing. The sea eventually returned, the strange woodland people went back to the earth. But the dome remained broken, and the ground before the temple was forever stained red.

This particular corpse was bloated to the point of nearly consuming another post! Still, I wanted to maintain some brevity. What did you find in Seekonk?
Next week, a new prompt:

30. Strange visit to a place at night—moonlight—castle of great magnificence etc. Daylight shews either abandonment or unrecognisable ruins—perhaps of vast antiquity.

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