The Shadow Over Who-ville

Cafe Society
1

“As an avid student of folklore, I had long heard the references to a mysterious tree spirit that haunted certain forests in the state of Washington. I hope that this record finds its way to the proper authorities, and I hope that my reputation as a strict skeptic and sober scholar will keep them from discarding my findings as mere delusional ramblings. For I know what I have seen in these ancient woods, and I know now the truth behind the Lorax.”

This weekend I finished an H.P. Lovecraft collection (‘The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Tales’, edited by S. T. Joshi, from Penguin books.) And for some reason it occurred to me that mayn Dr. Seuss books could be redone in this style and lose nothing in the translation (many Seuss books I found somewhat disturbing as a child.)

So test my hypothesis and try your hand! At the least, I think the results could be quite humorous.

“At once I knew that these eldritch beings were the dread Sneetches referred to in certain unspeakable texts.”

2

And as I opened my eyes the world erupted in a scream I could barely recognize as my own. For, there before me they lay, as they had on the rocks and in the box; in the boat and in the moat, in the house and with the mouse. Those damnable, damnable green eggs and ham!

3

I’d tell you what I saw on Mulberry Street, but frankly, it’s too horrible to describe.

4

Do you think me mad? Surely you would consider me mad when I recount the dreaded events that overtook that wretched house. Even though these stays that confine my arms would defy you not to say that my mind has been permanently diseased by all it has seen.

It began the day I first laid my eyes on a certain cat. He entered the house quite unbidden wearing the most outlandish headgear …

5

They…they…they HOPPED on Pop! The bastards!

6

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of whos…

The Shadow knows…

MWHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA

God help the guilty.

7

I looked on in horror as the bizarre engine lurched into view, its handles gleaming with the dull malice of the uncaring machine. Surely the moss that writhed in the menace-laden wind of its passage grew upon its awful flanks as it slumbered in the slime of some fetid, maleficent bog in the dark places of the Earth. The grotesque subfeline creature that had brought it forth crooned over it as if it were a child, calling this dread unliving thing by a name–a name without meaning, yet frought with horrid meaning that Man should be thankful he cannot grasp…“Gredunza”.

				--"The Gredunza Horror"
8

Then, the cornstalks parted. A stench-though stench cannot truly describe the fetid miasma-invaded my nostrils. Slowly, my heart near bursting with horror, I raised my eyes. I saw fabric-ancient stuff like the robes of long buried pharoahs, colored a noxious green, a color mold and frogs and swamps. Yet, horrid as this was, it was one final detail that sent me fleeing. The pants were empty!

They stood and walked of their own volition. These were not a garment meant for man. They were a vile thing woven on the dark loom of some incomprehensible entity from beyond the human sphere of existence. I ran as though the very fiends of Hell were behind me. Though, Dante's fiends would have been comforting compared to my true pursuer.

But all this is not what I fear most. For the past several nights, I have been beset by the urge to find the pants and to wear them. I fight with Ia! Ia! all the strength I can. But I know it is a losing battle. Last night, I spent an hour with my hand on the door. I was only barely able to Cthulu f’taghn R’yleh nylkah! prevent myself from opening the door and going in *Oh Father Dagon! Oh, we thy servants shall open the Gate for thy coming!*search of the pants. I have kept my sanity this long. But, my strength fades. My only hope, indeed man’s only hope, is that I may destroy the pants while my will remains my own. A passage of the dread Seussonomicon gave me the key. I need only The Black Goat shall bear it’s thousand young! Cthulhu shall rise from R’yleh! There is no god but evil, no hope but doom. Ia Ia!

9

I could hear them in the swamp, though I dared not look. From my position behind the hollow log I could hear their unholy chanting, as they worshipped their eldritch gods - Great Cthulhu, Dagon, and Thidwick. Clearly their leader wished to aspire to their lofty heights. “I shall be as they,” croaked his inhuman voice. “Powerful as they! I shall ascend the throne and achieve the grandeur of Hastur, the King in Yellow, the Fox in Socks. More turtles!”

With that utterance I dared to peer out from behind the log and saw their unspeakable ritual. A great Cyclopean throne, built of their own bodies, rising above the swamp. Turtle upon turtle, with one being, the damnable Yertle, perched at the top. “More turtles!” he demanded.

At that point my sanity quitted my mind and I ran, to no specified place, but merely in an attempt to retreat from this blasphemous sight. I awoke in my room at the inn, though I have no recollection of how I got there.

And now, four years later and across two continents, I still feel his yellowed eyes upon me. I have done research and know how many turtles inhabit that dismal bog. The throne completed, Yertle the Turtle would be king of all he could see…and he could see me!

10

I know that, seeing me now, you dismiss me as a madman, but it was not always so. Indeed, not many years ago, I was a well known journalist, associated with a Boston paper of some renown. My editor, a man with an eye for the curious and unusual, sent me to Egypt, to interview an archeologist with a novel and provocative theory.

Upon arriving in Cairo, I made contact with the archeologist, a Dr. Symthe, who was most eager to share his theories with me.

“You are, of course, familiar with the Sphinx.”, he began, and when I nodded my familiarity, as I was familiar with this strange statue in the desert, with the body of a great cat and the head of a man, he continued.

“The current belief is that the Sphinx was built to commemorate the Pharoah Cheops, and that it is Cheops head, along with the headdress showing his rank, on the body of a lion, to show his power. However, I do not share this belief. I have discovered inscriptions that suggest that the Sphinx is a statue of a great ancient Egyptian god, so old that its name is lost to history.”

I was surprised to hear him say this. I knew that the Egyptians had gods and goddesses that took the form of animals, and especially cats, like gentle Bastet, guardian of home and hearth, who had the head of a cat, and fierce Sekhmet, goddess of war, with the head of a lion. But I could not think of a god with the body of a beast and head of a man.

He must have seen the doubt on my face, and said, “So, you also doubt me. Come with me, and you will doubt no longer. For this god, though it is unnamed, is not without followers. There is a cult that worships it, that is meeting at the Sphinx tonight. They believe that, through their prayers, they can summon the god to return, and their god will take vengence on we Europeans who they believe stole their country. I have discovered a spot nearby where we can observe without being observed.”

I agreed, and we drove out there. I expressed my surprise that such a cult still existed, explaining that I thought that all of Egypt was either Christian or Mohamedian.

“Ah, but this is Egypt”, he answered, “and it was glorious long before Christ or Mohammed. But, you will see for yourself, for we are there.”

We abandoned his car and proceeded to our observation point. The sun was setting, and the rays of the setting sun dyed the desert sands red. Natives were dancing in front of the Sphinx, wailing in their strange tongue, and cutting themselves with knives, so their blood mingled with the sand. I admit feeling a strange dread at seeing their ancient and barbaric rites, but it would soon turn to horror with what happened next.

The natives stopped keening, and the desert was still. Then a strange wind picked up, and I could sense a dark, frightful being approaching, and saw a terrible shadowy form rise from the sands. I turned to Dr. Smythe, but he had collapsed, dead from fright at what he, with his eyes trained for the desert, had seen in that form. Forgetting him, I ran to the car and made my escape, but I still knew. My heart was filled with terror as I realized that the cultists had succeeded. THE CAT IN THE HAT HAD COME BACK!

11

I scanned the dusty bookshelves and noted the arcane and unhallowed books thereupon. There was a copy of the Latin translation of The Necronomicon of the Mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, De Vermis Mysteriis, and The Book of Eibon, as well as other profane texts. I pulled a tome off of the dust-caked shelf and began to peruse it.

My mind reeled in disgust at the horrors within. Upon the yellowed pages (which may or may not have been composed of actual paper) were artistic renderings and descriptions of beasts whose existance was protested by any rational person.

As I turned from page to page, I was informed, in cryptic verse, of such entities as the Yink (and its hellish diet); the Thing Found in The Park;the violent Gox and the attire to be worn when dealing with it; the Zans, the Ying, and the dread Wump. The book implied that these things walk among us, presumably unseen, and have gradually integrated themselves into our everyday lives.

When I came across the description of the foul Yop, I could take no more, and slammed the diabolical tome shut, knowing full well that I would never remove its images from my mind. There are things one cannot know and remain sane, and I now was aware of them.

I have not been the same since that day. I walk in shadow, always glancing about furtively, for I know the undeniable Truth, as recounted in that dark text: From there to here, from here to there / Funny things are everywhere.

12

…To the astonishment and horror of the assembled multitude the Thing atop the Tree became visible. It was evidently an ovoid, and from it something emerged. Ephas Carver saw something through his telescope, but reeled back in horror.

“That trunk!” he exclaimed, “movin’ in and aout, like it was a snake. And those ears! Body like a Bird! And that horrible, half-formed face on top!”

The observers could now hear a cry from the Treetop, and it was apparent that there were words in that cry, but they were in no earthly language, and not meant for human speech.

“Hut Sut!” it began “Ralston on a rillerah! Fa- , Fa- Father!”

And there was an answering cry, “And a so on so on so-forth!”

There was a flash of lightning, and it was gone, flown off to whatever Realm it came from.

Later, we realized that it was the son of Sadie the Bird, but it looked more like its Setter than its brother did!!"

Yeah, I know part of that’s from the cartoon. But it works better. So sue me.

13

“I screamed as I saw the dead thread, which had previously been lying inert at the bottom of page two, rise up and slowly shable towards the top of the forum…”

14

The drunken old sailor began to rave more and more, emboldened by the bootleg liquor I had supplied him with.

“Hey, young feller, you think I’m crazy, don’t ye? You would be so bold if you saw a Ghair under your Chair, or a Nooth Gush on your Toothbrush. And what they call a Zelf. I saw one on my shaelf, I did.”

He took another long pull on the bottle, and spoke in an undertone.

“Do ye know what a Vug is? Hey? That’s what I’m scared of, and you would be, too, if you saw one under the rug.”

15

I can think of many kids shows and books that would work.

I have searched in daylight and at night. I have searched with map and compass and by my senses alone. Yet, never have I found Sesame Street, where first I heard the music of Elmo Zahn.



  "Neiihgglk! He lives in a pineapple under the sea! Sp'unjbaabh Skwayre P'anns! Absorbent and yellow and porous is he! So if mankind's destruction be somethin' ye' wish, drop ta yer knees and scream like a fish!"

   
   I have been where no other men have gone. I have traveled, in body, beyond even those who quest in dreams. I have been to the forboding Plateau of Leng. I have reached Kadath in the cold wastes. Yea, I have even journeyed to Where The Sidewalk Ends!"
     "It was almost too much to believe! How could such a wondrous find as this come to be in the box of penny dreadfuls the shopkeeper had sold me? Being much learned in Egyptology, I had no doubt as to its authenticity. In the ecstasy peculiar to antiquarians I turned the pages. Henson had gone to the other room. His hunger was for knowledge. He had transcribed. Now, he raced over his texts and translated.  Would, that I had been slower or he faster. The space of a heartbeat would have prevented all the horrors that followed. As I turned to the final page Henson ran, screaming, through the door.
       "Stop! The first page is a warning! There is a monster at the end of this book!"
  "Once, the cabinet had been hidden and locked. But, as the generations passed, the keepers forgot their duty. None knew that it was a gateway. They treated it as a simple piece of furniture. But, she had not forgotten. On the other side, in the darkness and cold of her prison, she waited and called.  She beckoned the children in their dreams. Soon, she would destroy the guardian the Elder Ones had left. Then, she would leave Narn-Ya and reclaim the Earth."
16

It is said that in a time before our own existence there treads beings, Old Gods beyond our own comprehension. Indeed they are so great one as minute as us could not possibly gaze upon them without being overcome by their sheer immensity. To them, we are nothing, a mere speck of dust in their own world. Now, our fate becomes ever more perilous as our world has somehow become privy to their dark itinerary. There is only one who even bothers to hear us in our own insignificance, and we can only hope that he is a benevolent God…his name is Horton.

17

June 4, 1907 - I heard the queerest thing today. As I made my way through the jungle, I swore I heard a faint sound of drums. Or, more accurately, a single drum. I know it is not the drumming of the superstitious natives, as they will not go near the supposed temple. The only occupants of this remote area are my small team and the monkeys that inhabit this jungle. And yet, there was a drum. I must not let my brain trick me. I am probably just disquieted because I am nearing the location where Sir Arthur Corwin disappeared.

June 5, 1907 - More drums. The sound is unmistakable, and it echoes all around me. Could there be another tribe in this primeval jungle? If this is the case, they have kept well hidden, as I have seen nothing more human than the apes leaping from tree to tree. My companions seem unnerved by this. Once we reach the hidden temple, they will be suitable distracted and wont give these drums a moment’s thought.

June 6, 1907 - The drumming is incessant now. In the camp last evening I tried to stuff strips of cloth in my ear to drown it out, but it was to no avail. Two of my men have gone mad, and ran off into the forest with the supplies they were carrying. Even a warning shot from my pistol did not stop them. After I fired my warning shot towards the departing men, I glanced around and noticed a figure beyond a tree past the clearing. I saw it but a moment, and yet its features were unmistakably simian. It was, without a doubt, one of the many monkey that have been constantly around us, and it wore about its neck a wooden drum. I saw it pounding on the drum, moving its hand, hand, fingers, and thumb in time with the staccato rhythm pounding all around us. Have I gone mad as well?

June 7, 1907 - There are thousands of monkeys and thousands of drums. I am alone now, as my final companion has fled into the jungle, driven insane by the unending pounding of the drums. I am trying to turn back to the base camp, but I have no supplies and the drums are getting louder…

June, 1907 - I do not know what day it is; my only time is measured through the drums. I fear if they stopped now they would continue forever in my brain, though I know they haven’t stopped. There are millions of monkeys and millions of drums. I have made it back to the base camp but the boat is gone. As I write these last words I am keeping my revolver near, but I know the bullets would be better spent on myself than wasted on the simian drummers. I must make it stop. I must put an end to the constant dum-diddy-dum-diddy-dum-dum-dum…