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Rated: E · Other · Dark · #1799527
When you dig up Lovecrafts tomb.
Days had passed since the Suns rays grew tired and finally ceased. Rain petered down, splashing against a smooth granite stone. The soil slurry begging for discourse was given order, shoveled left and shoveled right over shoulder. The words “I am providence.” Had become eye level
“You weren't kidding Gramps.” John gasped. His strike resounding against splintered timber, sludge oozed being sucked down in.
“Sorry Gramps, he's coming you know? ” Johns fingers scurried fiddling with the lid,
“Theres no time Gramps, I'm sorry, I've got to stop him!” John forewent proper etiquette and bashed the lid.
“Its an emergency, of course you're already aware of that.” John said, as he groped around tattered wool blanketing the milky white bones.
“Where is it!? He's coming.” A raucous cacophony resounded and inundated the world with its crescendo, all around crystalline droplets pelted his body. John thrashed at the clothes violently searching hurriedly.
“Your shoes! Dammit gramps you're slick.” He ripped at ancient leather, and unfurled the authors log. It was blank. The words had long since faded.
“Ph'nglui mgl'nafh Cthulu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.” He read aloud as the words materialized on the page.
“Gramps! What is this? This isn't right...” Lightning cracked, its whip struck the ground nearby slurry splattered all around him.
“Tell me what to do!” John watched the sky clouds begun to gather over the ocean not far from where he stood.
“It's too late!" A great winged beast took flight in the sky above the ocean, its lapus lazuli gaze fixated upon the granite tomb.
"You were right gramps, Cthulu has returned."
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