Updated: Feb 10
by Laura Nettles
From the depths of the sea, Cthulhu opened his brine-soaked eyes. It was time. The thermal vents warming his ancient abode stopped as the world stilled. Leathery wings unfurled and with each flap the titan of the old gods rose to the surface, rose to meet humanity. With a crack of lightning his head breached the surface, forgotten air caressing his face. Over the din of the crashing waves, chanting could be heard. They were here.
“Cthulhu waits. Cthulhu dreams,” drifts on the wind.
On the distant shore of the ocean drowning the city R'lyeh the Cult of Cthulhu stood, their arching lines surrounding a flame over which they had erected a wicker effigy. Him. The Star Spawn that legend foretold would bring the new age to this lost and wasted planet. A new age desperately needed. For the people had turned, brother on brother, and none else knew of the psyche changing knowledge of the unknowable Great Old Ones. Of their own human insignificance.
With a mighty bellow Cthulhu juggernauted through the storm to his followers. Those ants who were chanting his name, raising their puny arms towards the heavens. They would know he was eternal, made of stardust and the rage of ancients.
The vague imaginings of ancestor Azathoth writhed along the beach in the moonlight as He gave a mighty bellow. The aligned stars shimmered and knew him. In swaths they fell from their inky seats, crashing into the seas of Earth. He was King.
He opened wide his maw. The air chilled and the cult collapsed, their souls being called home to Him whom they worshiped. The fire whipped out of existence. Now onto those who can’t even acknowledge their own insignificance and let loose their mind with the truth.
This story was my first ever to be hosted on the podcast Project: Shadow by writer CE Dorsett. The episode is called The Deep One Rises and Hold Us in These Mortal Arms - The House of Blue Dragon. The part where I read the story starts at 13:02. Thank you Charlie for accepting my humble offering of a flash fiction.