The Cry of Cthulhu: Formerly: The Alchemist's Notebook

by Byron Craft

  “It is here that the hybrid of earthly life and its horrible minions yet remain, imprisoned.

  “The Elder Beings feared that Cthulhu had an escape plan. It had imbued his creation with one vital element of time travel. Cthulhu had left behind a key that it hoped would elude its jailers. That key was Yath Notep and when the time was right and the planets were in their proper position and Yath Notep unfettered, the creature had the power to lead his creator earthward once again.

  “Cthulhu was immured behind a thin veil of expanse known as R’Lyeh, the only escape from which was through a narrow passage. This worm hole in the fabric of things was invisible and only large enough to permit passage during a certain alignment of the planets. When the time of the “coming” was at hand, Yath Notep by the sheer cry of his great voice could shatter the last remaining hold over his master’s prison, summoning and leading him blindly through the gateway simply by calling after him with its alien imbued tongue.

  “As a measure against Yath Notep ever escaping, the Elder Race built a temple over the prison tomb and a constant vigil was kept over the spot. Around the temple other buildings sprang and the City of Kadath grew. Years past and it became a teaming metropolis that spanned the entire globe.

  “Approximately sixty-five million years ago there was a great cataclysm. The planet was shaken by tremendous earthquakes and volcanic activity that engulfed over half the population. It was the flood, a product of upheavals, which shattered and submerged continents tumbling the architecture of the Elder Beings beneath the crushing weight of rolling oceans and toppling mountains.

  “This once Great Race left the planet. It is not known just where they made their exodus to but only that the meager remains of their cities and a few of the pre-human races were left.

  “One member of the Elder Race had remained on Earth. This was Tod-Fal, the Elder Being.”

  I was caught up in the myth and its remarkable similarities to my own dreams and my Uncle’s notebook. But when I heard the name of that Elder Being and saw it printed no less in the Necronomicon I dropped the book and scattered its pages across the floor.

  He went on barely taking notice of the accident. He said that Tod-Fal had been left as a sentinel at the Temple of Kadath. The temple had been constructed well and stood through the catastrophe.

  “The Elder Being,” he said with a voice that grew weaker “watched how the many races evolved and used their world. Tod-Fal marveled at the quick and powerful way man built civilization.

  “It had been said that the Elder Race would return to look after their great secret, but as the centuries passed it became apparent to Tod-Fal that it would not be during his time.

  “Tod-Fal took a female human as a mate, his queen. The half human child consummated from this mating became the first to a long line of Tanists. They were the custodial heirs to the gateway of N’Kai. For countless generations the descendants of that Elder Being have served as the custodians, keeping the secret of Yath-Notep safe and the gateway undisturbed.

  “Over the ages Yath-Notep became known by many names: Demon of Sorti, Beelzebub, Devil of the Black Shadow, Satan. Legends grew, fabricated from the lost history about the Devil being cast out and sent inside the earth to rule in hell.”

  Slowing down, his voice became dreamlike, “Throughout this time and from beyond the universe dark forces schemed and plotted against our world. Evil cults rose in dark corners of the world. Druids sworn to the service of the ancients performed their terrible ceremonies to release the Old Ones from their prisons.

  “Then came disaster,” he gasped. “The weak link finally was born in the Tod-Fal chain, a moderate when it came to defining the forces of good and evil. The chain was broken, influenced, and directed by the minions; a pawn to the black forces. As you may have guessed, the gateway is partly open, and the time of the cosmic elations, when the planets will align and the forces will be strong enough to finish the abominable task, is near.

  “It is not certain where the weak link first began. Some of my colleagues speculated that it started with your great Uncle’s father. He died of mysterious circumstances shortly after Heinrich was born, and some of us speculated that he was killed by his very own brother who recognized his insanity and destroyed him the moment the new Tanist was born in hopes of carrying on the great tradition. Others believed it started with Heinrich Todesfall. He was raised by his own Uncle, his father’s brother, a good man by all that we can gather, but his guardianship was taken from him and the boys mind was perverted by the Nazi order. No matter, the harm is already done.”

  I began to wonder, VonTassell was using the words, “us” and “we” as if he was not alone in all of this. I didn’t say anything. I guessed that if I listened long enough I would have the answer.

  “If Yath-Notep is freed, it will act as the catalyst to a chain reaction, liberating all the Old Ones to return to our world, and man will descend into a black murk of slavery.”

  He had been speeding up progressively with each sentence but he paused for breath then and in a more normal tone and at a reduced rate he went on. “Heinrich Todesfall would have probably learned of his destiny sooner if he had been allowed to have been raised by his Uncle. Nevertheless, as fate would have it he learned at a slower, but highly dangerous pace.”

  A rumbling in the hills interrupted him. He looked over his shoulder and stared out the window. The earth tremor subsided and he returned his gaze to me. “Todesfall, according to his manuscripts, had discovered the ancient lore then?” I said.

  He shook his head, “An indisputable fact that he had in his possession that horrible book. I wasn’t certain of the other copy, Dr. Dee’s English version, I strongly suspected that he had it, but wasn’t sure until that evening when you let me read his notebook.”

  He breathed deeply and I heard a rattle in his chest. The eyes of the Doctor stared past me. “In 1955 your great Uncle journeyed to America. He broke into the Library of Miskatonic University and stole the rare English copy. Unfortunately the old curator of the library was working late that night and got in his way. Todesfall murdered the man. His name was Henry Armitage, he was my father.”

  “Your father!” I was stunned. “But...but your name.”

  “Is Milton Armitage. I followed the same course of studies as my father and have resided at the University since 1957. A small select group of us at Miskatonic were able to read the signs left behind by the Elder Race and spent our lives searching out legends that were whispered about in certain corners of the world.

  “We learned of your uncle by intercepting his correspondence to the Esoteric Order of Dagon and were struck by the similarity of the name to the Great Elder Sentinel as you were.

  “The rest was easy. I adopted the identity of Peter VonTassell, physician and head of the Council for the Order of Dagon and came to Germany. My extensive background in the Cthulhu cycle, not to mention the personal vendetta that motivated me, a small knowledge of medicine, and being the youngest of my colleagues made me the obvious choice.

  “My mission was either to convince him to stop his horrible quest and if that failed, kill him. Murder was not beyond me,” he confessed with a long sigh. “I killed the real VonTassell in Innsmouth before assuming his identity and I came close to poisoning you the night you came to visit.”

  I thought that I was beyond surprise by then but it is one thing to have someone calmly tell you that you were once the object of murder. It didn’t take a college degree to figure out what he was talking about. The night he spilled the brandy, I sensed it was deliberate then, the damn thing must have been laced with poison. I swallowed hard before I asked the next question and tried to assume a calm attitude. “What made you stop?”

  “You told me your wife was pregnant. The war had eliminated many a family tree and we were not aware of any distant relatives. I thought the line of Tanists had ended with Todesfall. I had by that time been resolved to carry on the tradition myself. Even though I am not part of the
bloodline, I have been successful with some of my meager magic. That afternoon in the glade when I rescued your wife from a minion was an adequate demonstration of my powers. I thought it possible to carry on with help from Miskatonic and as long as the University would survive we had a chance.

  “Besides, I am not a heartless man. Although I wasn’t willing to take a chance on your internal strengths and sanity and would have eliminated you without a second thought, but no matter how hideous the outcome may be I could not bring myself to kill a mother and her unborn child.”

  “Then why didn’t you kill my uncle when you had the chance?” I challenged.

  “I failed with him as well. He was reclusive and highly suspicious. I had difficulty getting close to him. I finally worked my way into his confidence by presenting him with some artifacts he needed to complete his studies. They were kept under lock and key at the University but given to me to be used as a last resort if all else failed. I never believed that the implements would ever be useful and gambled that they would get me close to the old Tanist so that I could catch him off guard and complete my task.

  “But his suspicious nature always kept him guarded. He was never without his automatic which he kept strapped to his side night and day. Whenever I was over, or if someone would come to his door, he would unsnap the flap on the holster and rest his palm on the butt.

  “We even spent an evening drinking together but he always did the pouring keeping one hand on the bottle while the other hand never left his gun.

  “My visits were frequent, each one predicated on a new idea for assassination and each eventually thwarted. Then one day I hit upon a plan. Todesfall was obsessed by a dark vision...the location of the gateway. Some of my colleagues believed that Cthulhu laid supposedly dead, but dreaming’ in an unknown sunken city known as R’Lyeh, which some have thought to be Atlantis, some Mu, others with multiple theories.

  “Todesfall’s belief, however, was much more radical, abstract and scientifically accurate I am afraid. He discounted all the previous theories and reasoned that the Old Ones could not be retained by any physical means and set out to prove their existence in those spaces between time known as the fourth dimension.

  “His theory...the old gateway where whence they came was Germany. The region of the Black Forests a discovery through the irony of circumstances brought him back home.

  “Todesfall had made an error when selecting the time. I believed that this was his destiny.

  “I knew that Heinrich Todesfall’s calculations weren’t accurate. His mind had become twisted and his estimates too hasty. He had chosen a date too late in the year. Actions such as this normally occur during either the fall or spring equinox.

  “An undertaking of this kind if not carefully planned and executed at the proper time, can backfire with devastating results.

  “Todesfall was old, in his eighties and his health was poor. I figured that the error in his calling could cost him his life. So I stopped my visits giving him rein, the freedom he needed to play out his final hand. And with a manifest human weakness he ultimately failed...and so have I.

  “Todesfall, in his meddling, has left things in limbo, an unnatural order exists. I fear that Yath-Notep has been wakened from his slumber and all that remains is to unlock his cell door or wait for time or some other intervention to do it for him.

  “According to the mythos, Cthulhu has been planning for this time, thousands of years before you and your uncle were born.”

  He laughed out loud. It was so unexpected that it scared the hell out of me. His voice became wild, excited and delirious talking faster and occasionally chuckling to himself.

  “Do you suppose,” he screamed, shaking his blood stained fist under my face, “that for one minute our animals know that they are being used as food when they are taken off to the slaughter? Our planet is one large breeding ground waiting for the butcher to return.”

  The Doctor fell back against the casement, rattling the panes. He chuckled lightly then as if reciting verse stared at the ceiling and spoke softly.

  “...that is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons even death may die.”

  His strength was ebbing fast. I made one last attempt to convince him to let me get help pleading that Jim probably had the car repaired by then and we could possibly make it to Stuttgart in time for him to receive medical attention. He regained his composure but looked deathly pale. “There is more.” He said as he gasped for the air in which to speak with.

  I felt responsible, guilty for his condition. I confessed my suspicions to the dying Armitage and told him that I had locked him in the summer house out of my distrust.

  He seemed amused, declaring the padlocked door a blessing in disguise. If it hadn’t been for the racket the creature made when breaking in it may have caught him off guard.

  I relaxed a little then and related my dream to him. I told him of the fantastic ride and my visit to the alien city and how, until this evening, I had doubted the validity of my own experiences admitting that I might be hallucinating, or going insane.

  He didn’t act the least bit surprised and almost seemed to expect it. Propped against the casement sash and with his eyes closed he listened to my story with grave intent nodding occasionally at certain parts.

  When I disclosed what I knew of Ephraim Pryne and his plot his eyes popped open and he stared at me with amazement.

  “So the people of Innsmouth are involved, too. Probably from the Order of Dagon.

  “There are certain inferior ones,” he went on, “who are not quite as free as others and subject to many of the same laws which govern mankind. Their existence is normally well disguised in order to conceal the vast network of brotherhoods they operate.

  I told him of the bulbous gnome in the photograph and wondered if this was one of them.

  “Not quite”, he said. “The little creature you speak of is probably a Pilot demon...I’ve never seen one. The Necronomicon describes them as ‘ethereal puffs of smoke that, occasionally, solidify and take form.’ Not unlike the pilot fish of the whale. I gather that they grope in the subterranean darkness, leading Cthulhu’s half brother to the upper world.”

  “But you said they were trapped in the earth along with Yath-Notep. How could it surface?”

  “Through cracks in the earth. I am responsible for that I’m afraid. The artifacts I brought your uncle were to be used with the machine.”

  He had me fetch the Necronomicon again and I crawled across the floor gathering the pages together. I held it up and he feebly leafed through the pages.

  “One of the pieces is that dagger you’re carrying and the other is here.” He pointed to a drawing on a badly faded page. Holding it close to the lamp I could make out the crude outlines of what appeared to be a medallion. The patterns drawn within its circle were remarkably similar to the carvings on the hilt of the knife.

  “This amulet and the dagger are the two integral parts of the cosmic device...the windlass. The machine is useless without them. The knife when inserted in the base acts as a lever to activate it and the amulet fastens to the top and serves as a forward and reverse switch.

  “The Tanists wore the artifacts at all times. In case the windlass fell into the wrong hands it would be ineffectual without the two pieces.”

  I had jumped when he said “windlass.” I was familiar with the word, of course. Pryne had used it several times instructing me earlier that evening and my great uncle wrote about it in his journal. I was certain that it was that gold and silver piece of machinery that had been in my cellar.

  “Funny though,” he mused, “there has to be another windlass. I never thought of it until now but the one Todesfall used was a copy and the artifacts I gave him had to be duplicates. The original was supposed to be handed down to each succeeding generation. It is hidden well, I bet Todesfall’s Uncle and guardian must have been the last to possess it and he probably concealed it in the schloss where no one will ever find it. To think
Heinrich Todesfall spent a great portion of his life constructing the duplicate and the original was probably somewhere in his own house.

  “The barriers are weakening. The only thing that remained was action...quick and decisive. Only I wasn’t quick enough.” He indicated the body of the creature draped across the library table. “I couldn’t find the machine in time to undo my mistake but I did manage to unscramble part of the puzzle.

  “The ritual is short and basically simple. It utilizes a ceremonial chanting and the machine...but the amulet is the answer. I didn’t find out what the words are but the amulet I believe will reverse the procedure. The words are needed to wake Yath-Notep from his slumber and the machine can sever the bars that hold his jail door shut but the amulet is the key to reverse it. The words won’t be necessary then and the device topped with the alien instrument can reseal the tomb, drive the beast back into his lair and even unmake Todesfall’s interfering.”

  “But where is the amulet?” I put forward.

  “Around the neck of your great uncle.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I knew what that meant and under no circumstances was I into grave robbing. His condition was worsening. I was sure that a great portion of his story was true but I was just as certain the rest was based in the fantasy of his own insanity.

  “The machine is no good without the artifacts and the artifacts are no good without the machine. All I know is someone of your bloodline must activate it. Your bloodline leans more toward the human side of the beast than did your great uncle’s. Quite possibly the strain has lessened by degree...

  “I apologize for the task that awaits you now, but I was kept from participating in your great uncle’s funeral arrangements by that blasted Order of Dagon. The amulet was not with his things. It must have been buried with him.”

  He was gasping for air and his eyes had partially glazed over. “The Tanists of Kadath were guardians of the gateway, not despoilers of it. If the Old Ones are unable to control your actions they may settle on another course and raise the dead. Abdul Alhazred wrote about such a possibility and, if it is true, they’ll raise your great uncle to finish the ritual for them. If this happens he must be stopped...Alhazred wrote that the gate keepers voice must be stilled...exhume the body...get the amulet...”