Steven Marc Harris
(From the Private Journals of Andrew Juehl)
Well, I have finally done it! Having studied every single book, every manuscript, every last scrap of lore in minute detail concerning that mighty pantheon of demon-gods from the stars known as the Great Old Ones of the Cthulhu Mythos, I traveled to the Miskatonic University in Arkham, and borrowed from Dr. Llanfer Theophilus Wenn's True Magick. For now that life holds no more mysteries for me save one, I now wish to unveil that final mystery for myself before it claims me for its own in its loathsome malevolent embrace -- I wish to behold the awesome form of Lyh'huh, the Bespeaker of Doom, for the first and last time, for surely it is written in the Necronomicon and, aye, the Book of Eibon as well, that "None shall gaze upon the Bespeaker of Doom and yet live!"
And, of course, I have now read aloud the words and performed the ceremonies for the summoning of it, and having done so I pen these final words for posterity for I know I shall not live out the night.
Hmm. It appears I was in error. The Bespeaker of Doom has not yet come, and I'm beginning to think that I await my end to this miserable experience, my unspeakable doom, in vain.
I've again gone painstakingly through the ritual to summon Lyh'huh, the Bespeaker of Doom, from his otherworldly realm of Sithlo beyond the black nebula of G'faarn. It appears I missed the entire seven-page section on the Voorish Sign as being essential to the success of the conjuration. I'm going to incorporate the Sign and perform it again.
Damn! The ritual must have been completely worthless. I never should have trusted that blasted Miskatonic Head Librarian Llanfer! I'm beginning to think he slipped me a harmless forgery of Wenn! How that incompetent fool ever got the job after the great Henry Armitage is beyond me. I've packed my bags, and I'm going to take a trip to Arkham to give that bastard a piece of my mind!
The entire house is destroyed! I've come back to the smoldering ruins of my secluded gabled-roofed seafront mansion to hear tales from my neighbors of some tentacled monstrosity emerging from the angles of non-Euclidean space to wreck my home with its monstrous tongues of fire. The description they gave of the creature sounds exactly like that of Lyh'huh, the Bespeaker of Doom, as per its description in the Winters-Hall translation of the Eltdown Shards (page 42, footnote 3). This means that the spell did indeed work, and the worst part is that I WASN'T EVEN THERE TO SEE MY ELDRITCH VISITANT IN ACTION!
And like a fool I had returned my copy of True Magick to the Miskatonic just before I gave Dr. Llanfer a three-hour long speech questioning both his ability as a librarian and his parentage by non-inbreds.
I wonder if I take him some cookies if he'll return my library privileges?
Damn that high and mighty Llanfer! Apparently, New England librarians just can't take a joke! I'm going to have to perform the ceremony for the summoning of Lyh'huh, the Bespeaker of Doom, without the benefit of the original text. I hope that my memory and my 114 pages of jotted down notes will suffice.
Going to perform the ritual again. Maybe it was the fact that I originally performed the ritual twice that made it work.
Still waiting. Maybe if I perform the ritual backwards . . .
Have decided to summon Kragathua, the Cosmic Jellyfish, instead.
I had forgotten a dentist's appointment in town, and when I returned to the house I found my entire yard filled with starfish and clams and squid! No doubt these were the sendings of Kragathua, the Cosmic Jellyfish. Curse all the luck, I missed it again!
Now trying Abakkroth, the Subterrene Stone-Giant. One of these idiotic spells has to work!!!
Left the house to go grocery shopping. While I was gone, Abakkroth showed up and destroyed my recently-rebuilt home. It was buried nearly to the roof in mud and dirt! I'm thinking of giving up trying to summon gods of the Cthulhu Mythos pantheon and joining the local Quaker sect.
I've prepared the ritual to summon Lyh'huh, the Bespeaker of Doom, Kragathua, the Cosmic Jellyfish, and Abakkroth, the Subterrene Stone-Giant, all at once. I've also decide to tie myself up in a chair and sit here until they show up. As God is my witness, I will not be denied an unholy death that the claws and slime-covered pseudopodia of otherworldly eldritch beings!
AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!! THE EYES, THE EYES!
Sorry, false alarm. Just some tree branch scratching at the French doors leading out to the verandah. I rushed over to this diary before I had a chance to check it out. Sorry . . . still waiting.
I can't take it anymore! The damnable beings seem to care not one whit about me and my needs! Just what kind of creatures are these Cthulhu Mythos deities -- some kind of non-anthropocentric gods that care as much for humanity as humans do for the ants they crush under their feet?
Well, I'll show them! I'll put a bullet through my own head! I don't need any of them! Lyh'huh, the Bespeaker of Doom, can kiss my ass!
(The following is a condensation of an article appearing in the Partridgeville Gazette, for December 7, 1949.)
INSANE WRITER DIES IN MYSTERIOUS SUICIDE
Andrew Juehl, 37, was found in his storm-damaged seaside home last night at 9 p.m. Police have ruled the death to be suicide by use of a .38 revolver. Police are baffled, however, at the complete and utter destruction by water, earth and fire damage, of the home.
"Damnedest thing I've ever seen. It looks as though nature herself cut loose on this house just minutes after Mr. Juehl's unfortunate death," explained Detective Sergeant Dirk Tomason. "I've seen some pretty weird things, especially when I was working at the local glue factory as a young man, but this is just plain spooky!"
Police were summoned to the house by Juehl's neighbors, who heard the shot. Police, however, did not respond immediately to the call, but waited five hours to investigate.
"You've got to understand. We thought it was just another crank call; we figured maybe he'd put his neighbors up to it," explained Detective Sergeant Tomason. "This past summer, all that Mr. Juehl did was call the police nearly every night. He kept screaming about somebody called the Doom-Speaker or something, trying to get into his house and kill him. When we'd show up, there was never anybody trying to break in. After several months, we decided that sane callers should get priority over Mr. Juehl's ramblings."
Neighbors claim also that after they heard the final shot from the revolver that ended Mr. Juehl's life, they saw huge octopoid monsters descend from the sky and come from the nearby seafront and from below the ground and dance upon the recently-renovated Juehl estate. Police have dismissed these stories as products of "even more loony writers."
Created: March 12, 1999; Updated: August 9, 2004