Good Morning/Good Afternoon/Good Evening Dear Brothers and Sisters!
I've started to write a Lovecraft short-story, I've only written a few pages so far, so you can give me your comments.
I've posted the first part (I continued a little later, but I'll modify it if you wish), I'm writing in French but I've translated the text, so forgive me if there are some mistakes. This is my first contribution in a while, but I plan to post the rest in a week or two (it all depends on my free time and your comments).
On that good reading
I last saw the Sun as a healthy man of mind and body on the morning of Tuesday, April 30, 1912, the day of St. Robert's. I was entering my21st year, and my birthday was on the day of the commemoration of Louisiana's attachment to the United States. I was then studying ethographies and the recent resurgence of a "bwiti" cult, a kind of initiation ritual among the Pygmies and Mistogos,had givenmea very interesting academic thesissubject. But, while my hair has long fallen, and the shadows on the walls seem to me to be infamous creatures hungry for my blood, I cannot help but think of the fateful acts that preceded this day.
15 days earlier, the Titanic sank and on board my somewhat eccentric forefather: Charles Kepienovitch. His parents, wealthy merchants somewhat noble, left Russia in 1843, following the "Potato Revolt" and went into exile in America with little Karl (transformed into Charles upon his arrival on American soil. This extravagant gentleman, an assumed globetrotter and ethnographer, seemed to have devoted the last years of his life to searching for the common traces of a very ancient and secret Cult, scattered all over the globe. We corresponded a lot by interposed letters, his experience being useful to me in my studies. Together, we had determined that the Biwitiritualwas used to communicate with certain Entities and, when helped in his trance by his deceased Ancestors, the applicant submitted to him his desire to be part of the Community; the Being then decided, his refusal manifested by the death of the applicant. Charles had gone to Ireland, where he remained for a year and a half, he was looking there for traces of his Cult, in order to flesh out his theory. I try to transcribe for the reader the story of Kepienovitch:
On the first of November 1911, the day of Samain, when the "doors open", he took part in an ancient-inspired ceremony, near the village of whiterock in the middle of Dolmens and stones, engraved and placed according to a precise arrangement. The words spoken by the priest, whom he tried to transcribe, this with great difficulty, the words and sounds seeming to be uttered by a Thing in every inhuman point. These words were pretty much this: "Yog-sothoth, mgahnnn nglui, ah'n'ghft c'oh thou nglui ng h' uh'eog, c' goka r'luh Iiahe c' goka thee fahf vulgtmor." While the priest was psalmodying. , two masked officiants dressed in robes brought a young girl who seemed drugged on the altar in the center of the circle, and then, the one who seemed to be the master of ceremonies,always psalmodizing, bled the victim by drawing with the tip of his dagger a precise and mysterious pattern. Blood flowed into the furrows of the stone, a monolith made up of a material from another world. Immediately, and although it was midnight and there was no moon, a great clarity burst into the sky and a smell of suffering invaded the air, while all the birds fell silent. An indescribable feeling of terror, admiration and bliss mingled, crossed Charles, while in his head resonated a voice that was not of this world. Then the priest chanted other words in a slightly different tone, always as possessed, but as if another Thing inhabited his body: "Oh ymg' cthulhu, throdog uh'eog ot mgepogg ng gn'thh, c' mggoka'ai uln uln ng ll ll nafl'fhtagn y'nah, c' goka uaaahnythor cahf ymg' ephaimgah'ehye nafl'fhtagn, cahf ephairag ymg' r'luh ng c' ch'nglui'ah. Ahornah ahnah nilgh'rinah ot ymg' ng ymg' r'luh llll ah c' llll n'ghftyar'. This time it was a vigorous fellow who was brought, this one seemed to have all his reason but his body was covered with strange tattoos and scarifications. He too was bled during the priest's psalmodies. Then, a smell was superposa at the first, a smell of mud, of rotting fish, the ceremony took place on a small island in the middle of a swamp, and the waters of this marsh began to boil whilethe blood and theswampy mud were bubbling; after a while, a statuette emerged from the ground. mélangaient It represented a humanoid creature, but whose priesttookit, placed it on the Altar and began a psalmody very different from the previous two, inaudible to Charles, the listeners began to convulse on the ground, while a green glow filled the air. Suddenly, gunshots feu slammed; they were Irish autonomistagents, who, taking this macabre ceremony for a meeting of terrorist Anglophiles, went on the attack. The priest was shot in the head and collapsed, while the communicators were still under the influence of evil. Charles, in a burst of vivacity and adrenaline, rose, grabbed the statuette, and went into general chaos, while the Irish Agents handcuffed the participants of the ceremony, who barely awoke.
To be continued…