Cthulhu Specimen Box Revisited
Sold (Private Collection)
June, 1893: A gnarled ancient city built upon a small land mass is discovered many miles off the coast of South America, risen from its darkened tomb on the arc of a tectonic shift. The striations of charred stone lift spiderlike from the ocean, as if gasping for breath, and the crew of the Nostromo stand silent upon the deck, speechless, in awe of this marvel of insanity, the cyclopean monstrosity, built millions of years ago – R’lyeh, tomb fortress of the old god Cthulhu.
Drawn by curiosity and made sick with fear, the crew land upon the shore of the island. Amongst their group are novice scientists, whose own desire to record this place leads them deep within the briney masonry, a place where surfaces blend inorganically, where walls become floors, become voids.
Scattered upon the sticky gelatinous algae ruins are the bodies of squid like entities. This breeding ground of stillbirths seems odd, unforgiving. What spewed forth this tentacular progeny?
The crew leave, beg the scientists to follow, but to no avail. The scientists ask for life boats to be left for them. The Nostromo sets sail, sullen faces watch as those left behind descend into the depths of R’lyeh, never to be seen again.
A life boat is found many months later, tar sealed crates containing heavily documented samples, and a letter addressed to whoever finds these remains.
“Shub Niggurath, black goat of the forest of kadath, lay with the old god Cthulhu. She will endlessly vomit her vile brood; they are born and die and sleep forever in odious torpor. These depraved creatures are the punch line of a wretched cosmic joke and should be cast into the fires of hell. The world is being watched by lidless eyes who mock us with every breath. Our end will be a pitiful affair. And I mourn the birth of every child…”
Of the few remaining crates rescued from the ill-fated expedition, little sense can be made of the contents. The decaying cadaver of a hominid octopus, presumably some unknown species of cephalopod shines no light on what was found on that despised land mass. The notes speak of a scientific background, samples of rock are preserved, alongside specimens of seaweed, sediment. The half empty vial of Opium does not bode well, nor does the drawings of gnarled ancient statues of evil deities carved upon the edifice of this island. Whatever was found there is now lost below the waves, no ship has spied it for many years. The moon continues on its course, the pull of the ocean beckons to the rock below to thrust upwards, to allow that malign and unholy place to breath, to give life to that which it imprisons, the old one himself..