How can such things be? How can something so impossibly
vast, so impossibly
monstrous, so impossibly,
insanely
hostile to life exist on our world? Even I can scarcely believe that such
horrors could truly threaten all we know and hold dear, but I've discovered
evidence of their existence. I know they're out there. I know they're coming.
My name is unimportant. I live in and work for the city. I am actually something of an
explorer. I travel far and wide each day, looking for
treasures,
information,
food--anything, really, that could potentially
benefit those of us who live in the city. It's hard work. Often, it's
exhausting and
dangerous work. But I don't mind it. I enjoy
exploring, the smell of the
earth and the
air, the rustle of the wind and the leaves and the grass. It's not a
perfect life, but it's a good one, and I'm making a difference for my people.
Only a few days ago, life was
normal for me. I was
roaming very far from home--even farther than usual. I knew that it would be difficult for me to return home before
nightfall, but I pushed on, willing to endure a night in the
wilderness, under whatever cover I could
scavenge. The day was
beautiful and
warm--a perfect day for
walking, and I felt
invigorated to be
alive,
outdoors, and hiking through the unmapped
countryside.
But soon I came over a small
hill and immediately knew I had to be on my guard. Off in the distance was another city. There was no way to tell how they would treat
strangers, so I was
lucky I had not met one of their own
scouts yet. Many cities survive by
war and
bloodshed, invading rival cities, stealing their
property, and killing and enslaving as many of their inhabitants as possible. I could
observe for a few moments, to learn as much as I could about their
army and
resources, but this was vitally important information. I had to return home quickly--perhaps our cities would never come into
conflict, perhaps we would need to field an army of our own, either to repel an
invasion or to beat the other city to the punch. But that was not
my decision to make.
I hadn't watched long--not long enough yet to even guess at the city's
population,
strength, or
intentions--but without warning, the
atmosphere itself seemed to change. The ground below shook, dislodging
rocks and
gravel, sending grains of sand rolling down the hill at my feet like tiny
cartwheeling
acrobats. The
sun itself seemed
dimmer.
And before I even knew what was happening,
the Thing was upon us all.
It
loomed out of the sky--I can still barely
conceive of how
large it was--hundreds? Thousands of times larger than I? It was larger than the entire city--how could that be possible? It was so
colossal, so unimaginably
immense that my mind simply couldn't
perceive it in its entirety--a
limb here, an
eye there, and the rest
sprawling and
spiraling beyond where my eyes could see.
Gibbering and
keening
shrilly,
the Thing uprooted mighty trees with its
flabby tentacles and began stabbing them into the city itself, gouging the heart of the city open, massacring scores of the city's workers with each stroke. The army poured out,
panicked,
confused, and tried to
defend the city, but
the Thing barely noticed their attacks. They all died by the hundreds, some buried in
rubble, some cruelly
crushed, seemingly at
the Thing's leisure, between its terrible tentacles and
pitiless claws.
More quickly than I could have believed, the city was reduced to a
ruin, and
the Thing rose to its full,
towering height,
howling with
malign delight. I don't think it even realized that hundreds, perhaps thousands, of bodies stained its
evil clotted
appendages. As it began to
lumber off toward wherever its
foul den was, I felt that I perceived something new, something that pushed the
horror to an even greater level. I turned and ran as fast as I could,
heedless of all
obstacles in my path, heedless of the scattered
survivors of the
massacre behind me, heedless of all but returning to my home.
In
retrospect, I should have been more
careful as I made my
retreat. A horror like that--who could possibly imagine what it might be able to sense? It could have detected my
terror-stricken flight and returned to
destroy me. Even worse, it could have traced the path I took to my own city. I could have
doomed my own people just by returning to them. But I never thought of
caution as I fled. I was, quite honestly, nearly
mad with terror. Sensible thought was
impossible for me--I was operating solely on
instincts that drove me to return to the
illusory safety of my home.
As it turns out, I was
lucky.
The Thing didn't
kill me. It didn't follow me
home. But it's still
out there. The evidence of the
devastated city was enough to persuade my people that my mad story was
true, that the
threat was real, and we have begun to make our own
preparations in case the
unthinkable ever comes after us. My people are
confident and
brave, but I must admit that I harbor
doubts about their ability to withstand the
monster, should it ever attack. They haven't seen
the Thing in the flesh, as I have. They don't have
nightmares of its
rampage. Against a
foe so
insanely immense, so impossibly
powerful, so
breathtakingly evil, is there any way we can stand against it?
And I have not told my people everything I learned about
the Thing. If they knew what I had perceived just before I fled from the
shattered city, I fear they would lose all
hope and surrender to
madness and
despair. I already know that we are all ultimately doomed, but I can't bring myself to kill their hopes with the truth. You see, before
the Thing had
shambled away from the ruined city, it had emitted some sort of piercing
cry--and its
call had been answered! The reply came as if from
far away, and
the Thing immediately abandoned its
bloody revel and dutifully stomped away in the direction of the other call--as if
the Thing were
subservient to some greater, more impossibly vast
elder Thing--
as if it were a mere child being summoned from its playtime by its horrific parent!
"Mitchell! Lunchtime!"
"Coming, Mom!"
"Mitchell, what on earth have you been doing?"
"Been smashing ants."
"Smashing ants? What for?"
"It's fun, Mom."
"Smashing ants is not fun, young man. Look at you! You look half eaten alive! Did you let those ants bite you?"
"Just on my arms. It don't even sting much."
"You just wait. I'm sure it will soon. Come on, let's get some soap and water and Bactine on those arms."
"Can't we eat first, Mom? I'm starving!"
"I'm not going to let you get crushed ants all over the kitchen table. Let's go get washed up, right now."