Haggopian and Other Stories

“My first thought on deciphering the fragments was of an expedition. I may tell you I had learned of certain things I could have dug for here in England—you’d be surprised what lurks beneath the surface of some of those peaceful Cotswold hills—but that would have alerted a host of so called ‘experts’ and amateurs alike so I decided on G’harne. When I first mentioned an expedition to Kyle and Gordon and the others I must have produced quite a convincing argument for they all insisted on coming along. Some of them though, I’m sure, must have considered themselves upon a wild goose chase for, as I’ve explained, G’harne lies in the same realm as Mu or Ephiroth—or at least it did—and they must have seen themselves as questing after a veritable lamp of Aladdin; but despite all that they came. They could hardly afford not to come, for if G’harne was real…why! Think of the lost glory… They would never have forgiven themselves. And that’s why I can’t forgive myself; but for my meddling with the fragments they’d all be here now, God help them…”

Again, Sir Amery’s voice had become full of some dread excitement and feverishly he continued.

“Heavens, but this place sickens me! I can’t stand it much longer. It’s all this grass and soil. Makes me shudder! Cement surroundings are what I need—and the thicker the cement the better… Yet even the cities have their drawbacks… Undergrounds and things… Did you ever see Pickman’s Subway Accident, Paul? By God, what a picture… And that night… That night! If you could have seen them—coming up out of the diggings? If you could have felt the tremors… Why! The very ground rocked and danced as they rose… We’d disturbed them, d’you see? They may have even thought they were under attack and up they came… My God! What could have been the reason for such ferocity? Only a few hours before I had been congratulating myself on finding the spheres, and then… And then…”

Now he was panting and his eyes, as before, had partly glazed over. His voice had undergone a strange change of timbre and his accents were slurred and alien.

“Ce’haiie, Ce’haiie… The city may be buried but whoever named the place dead G’harne didn’t know the half of it. They were alive! They’ve been alive for millions of years; perhaps they can’t die… And why shouldn’t that be? They’re Gods aren’t they, of a sort?… Up they come in the night…”

“Uncle, please!” I said.

“You needn’t look at me so, Paul, or think what you’re thinking either… There’s stranger things happened, believe me. Wilmarth of Miskatonic could crack a few yarns, I’ll be bound! You haven’t read what Johansen wrote! Dear Lord, read the Johansen narrative! Hai ep fl’hur… Wilmarth… The old babbler… What is it he knows which he won’t tell? Why was that which was found at those Mountains of Madness so hushed up, eh? What did Pabodie’s equipment draw up out of the earth? Tell me those things, if you can? Ha, ha, ha! Ce’haiie, Ce’haiie—G’harne icanica…”

Shrieking now, and glassy-eyed he stood, with his hands gesticulating wildly in the air. I do not think he saw me at all, or anything, except—in his mind’s eye—a horrible recurrence of what he imagined had been. I took hold of his arm to calm him but he brushed my hand away, seemingly without knowing what he was doing.

“Up they come, the rubbery things… Goodbye Gordon… Don’t scream so—the shrieking turns my mind… Thank heavens it’s only a dream!… A nightmare just like all the others I’ve been having lately… It is a dream, isn’t it? Goodbye Scott, Kyle, Leslie…”

Suddenly, eyes bugging, he spun wildly round.

“The ground is breaking up! So many of them…I’m falling…it’s not a dream! Dear God! IT’S NOT A DREAM! No! Keep off, d’you hear! Aghhh! The slime… Got to run!… Run! Away from those—voices?—away from the sucking sounds and the chanting…”

Without warning he broke into a chant himself and the awful sound of it, no longer distorted by distance or the thickness of a stout door, would have sent a more timid listener into a faint. It was similar to what I had heard before in the night and the words do not seem so evil on paper, almost ludicrous in fact, but to hear them issuing from the mouth of my own flesh and blood—and with such unnatural fluency…

“Ep ep fl’hur G’harne,

G’harne fhtagn Shudde-M’ell hyas Negg’h.

While chanting these incredible mouthings Sir Amery’s feet had started to pump up and down in a grotesque parody of running. Suddenly he screamed anew and with startling abruptness leapt past me and ran full tilt into the wall. The shock knocked him off his feet and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.