Johannes Cabal: The Fear Institute

‘We meet again,’ Cabal said, ‘I’m fairly sure. What cryptic truths have you come to bore me with this time?’

The ghoul settled down on the grimy rock, crossing its legs with practised ease despite the way its knees bent back like a dog’s. ‘The last but one, Johannes Cabal.’ It fell silent, watching Cabal with its head cocked to one side.

‘Well?’ said Cabal. ‘If you could buck up and illuminate my ignorance I should be very grateful. Actually, if you want me to be very, very grateful, I would appreciate being led from here to the waking world. This darkness is clearly with your territories, so it shouldn’t be very difficult for . . .’

But the ghoul was slowly shaking its head. It was hard to tell if it was grinning: the line of its muzzle and the flickering light made things uncertain. ‘It is not for me to tell Johannes Cabal what the truth is. Johannes Cabal will see for himself very soon.’

‘What? What do you mean? Am I intended to deduce it? Play Twenty Questions? This is ridiculous.’

And it was ridiculous. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. Here he was, in the depths of an abyss, within the bowels of an uncharted island, in an alien sea, on a different plane of existence, surrounded by monsters, playing guessing games. It was ridiculous, and soon he couldn’t see anything else but how ridiculous it was, and that was when he started laughing. The laughing started with giggling, then full-mouthed guffawing, and it grew louder and more hysterical as the ghouls watched in silence and, perhaps, in sadness.

Within Cabal, he felt panic as the tightly held reins that had steered him from insanity on so many occasions suddenly flapped loose and useless. He felt his mental discipline turn to water as it bore him to the lip of another abyss. This abyss descended into far darker places than he had ever experienced before, and it was one from which even the most accomplished spelunkers would never return.

And then he heard his own laughter, shrill and humourless, gulping breaths beneath it. He heard those half- swallowed sounds and he recognised them, and the fear blossomed within him like flame. The Fear Institute had been right all along, it seemed. Here truly was the Phobic Animus, or his, at least. Where Nyarlothotep had failed, the ghouls had succeeded.

He dropped his torch and fell to his knees, and then to all fours. His hands were before him, and – would he had worn gloves to save him from that sight! – he saw the fingers were perhaps a little too long, the nails a little too pronounced, the skin a shade too grey. He stared at them, making despairing little barking sounds under his breath, and so was unaware when the leader of the ghouls crept close and sat by him.

‘Do not fear, Johannes Cabal,’ it said, though not in any human tongue. ‘We shall look after you. Now you are family.’

Surviving fragments of Cyril W. Clome’s Manuscript for The Young Person’s Guide to Cthulhu and His Friends: No. 5 An ABC

A is for Azathoth, all mindless in space,

B is for Bugg-Shash, a god with no face.

C is for Cthulhu, the Father of Screams,

D is for Deep Ones, who watch while he dreams.

E is for Elder Things that lived long ago,

F is for Fire Vampire, they don’t like the snow.

G is for Ghouls, who look much the same,

H is for Hastur, but don’t say his name.

I is for Ithaqua, you’ll freeze to the bone,

J is for Juk-Shabb, of whom little is known.

K is for Kadath, lost in cold wastes,

L is for Lloigor, of decadent tastes.

M is for Mi-Go, clever if fungal,

N is for Nyarlothotep, not prone to bungle.

O is for Oorn, a mollusc from Hell,

P is for Pluto, called Yuggoth as well.

Q is for Q’yth-az, a strange deity,

R is for Rhogog, who looks like a tree.

S is for Shub-Niggurath, her prey are dismayed,

T is for Tsathoggua, whose needs are depraved.

U is for Ulthar, cat killers be warned,

V is for Vhoorl, where Cthulhu was spawned.

W is for Witch House, down Old Arkham way,

X is for X’chll’at-aa, which is tricky to say.

Y is for Yog-Sothoth, who’s everywhen and where,

Z is for Zoth-Ommog, Great Cthulhu’s third heir.

Read this right through, and then you may see, That

(The MS halts abruptly at this point. The author remains largely missing, but for his finger- and toenails, and his