The horror at Red HookLovecraft, H. P. (Howard Phillips)
Science
The horror at Red Hook
Lovecraft, H. P. (Howard Phillips)
Cults -- Fiction; Horror tales; Occultism -- Fiction; Red Hook (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Short stories
Avenues of limitless night seemed to radiate in every direction, till
one might fancy that here lay the root of a contagion destined to
sicken and swallow cities, and engulf nations in the fetor of hybrid
pestilence. Here cosmic sin had entered, and festered by unhallowed
rites had commenced the grinning march of death that was to rot us
all to fungus abnormalities too hideous for the grave's holding.
Satan here held his Babylonish court, and in the blood of stainless
childhood the leprous limbs of phosphorescent Lilith were laved.
Incubi and succubae howled praise to Hecate, and headless mooncalves
bleated to the Magna Mater. Goats leaped to the sound of thin
accursed flutes, and AEgipans chased endlessly after misshapen fauns
over rocks twisted like swollen toads. Moloch and Ashtaroth were not
absent; for in this quintessence of all damnation the bounds of
consciousness were let down, and man's fancy lay open to vistas of
every realm of horror and every forbidden dimension that evil had
power to mold. The world and nature were helpless against such
assaults from unsealed wells of night, nor could any sign or prayer
check the Walpurgissage of horror which had come when a sage with the
hateful locked and brimming coffer of transmitted demon-lore.
Suddenly a ray of physical light shot through these fantasms, and
Malone heard the sound of oars amidst the blasphemies of things that
should be dead. A boat with a lantern in its prow darted into sight,
made fast to an iron ring in the slimy stone pier, and vomited forth
several dark men bearing a long burden swathed in bedding. They took
it to the naked phosphorescent thing on the carved gold pedestal, and
the thing tittered and pawed the bedding. Then they unswathed it,
and propped upright before the pedestal the gangrenous corpse of a
corpulent old man with stubby beard and unkempt white hair. The
phosphorescent thing tittered again, and the men produced bottles
from their pockets and anointed its feet with red, whilst they
afterward gave the bottles to the thing to drink from.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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