Shoggoth.net

“This is a dreadful, a very unpleasant thing.
“Its nose is bowed and crooked entirely like a fishing-hook,
“The arms are not equal, the feet are like branches and boughs (?).
“Its sunken eyes sparkle and glare- It is dreadful if you see it, not only at night but even in broad day.
“It is all nude, quite delicate (?); but it has the shape of man,
“On its forehead it has a horn of the length of a middle finger. Its fingers are not crooked, they are all straight,
“Very unpleasant, each one longer than half a yard.”

Gabdulla Tuqaj, “The Forest-Demon”

Eternal Cubicle Denizens

I’ve got a review next week if Mohinder finally comes in.  Quarterly reports due in two weeks but I think we’ve synergized with logistics. *harsh cough followed by weeze* So we should be 5×5 for the stockholders meeting before earnings call

—According to the nameplate on the desk Jeff Carter, Regional Manager, spoke whilst experiencing cardiac arrest and dying whilst talking.

“Oh no – you don’t want to travel these plains without extra rations. Even if you can make it to the next village when it’s still light. I lost five friends for want of some hardtack biscuits and jerky. Sure, I’ll tell you – just watch your feet.”

No one goes anywhere near the old wrecked oil tanker, Neptune Venture, in the mud flats. Not during the day or especially at night, whether your deep blooded or shallow, like me. The only people who ever go there are members of the Bishop family, and they only do that once a week. They only stay long enough to drop off a box of food and supplies. Even then they have a dog with them, and someone keeping watch with a shotgun. Kids used to dare one another to go touch the Neptune Venture after dark, that is until two of them went missing trying to do it, and the kids who put them up to it were disciplined by the Esoteric Order of Dagon. There are rumors of a hulking creature that comes out of the wreck at night, to fish, dig clams, and sometime burn a trash pile.  I’m not going to be the one to find out for sure. So, good luck with that…

Our guide led us into the old smugglers tunnels under Innsmouth, holding a lantern ahead of us, leading our company into darkness. We were desperate to rescue our companions, who’d been captured when we fled two days earlier. She said her name was Mary-Catherine, and explained that she lived as an exile in the marshes outside of town, because she had never fully made “the change”.  We weren’t sure what she meant, but she had that “Innsmouth Look” worse than anyone we’d seen yet, appearing to be some sort of unholy combination of a human woman, a frog, and a snapping turtle.
Ugly or not, we had limited options, and had put our faith in her, after hearing of the cruelty she’d suffered at the hands of the Esoteric Order of Dagon, whom had banished her and forbad her from entering the town.  Her steps were fast and sure, our team had trouble keeping up with her. Once we were strung out a bit in the twisting labyrinth of tunnels her lantern went out and we were all plunged into darkness. I grabbed for my electric flashing, but it was gone! We heard out guide giggling manically just before the mayhem began.
Of the four of us who followed that creature called Mary-Catherine into dark, I was the only one to survive.

When the mists roll in over the dark ocean waves,
The wrongfully deceased rise from watery graves.
They hunt for those who caused their death,
Until their quarry breaths their last breath.

-Old Captain Rosario, Kingsport, 1863