The Voice before the Void: Arcana, Story, Poetry

Halloween Special: “Happy Halloween, you poor devils.” ⁓The Voice before the Void “There is a grey thing that lives in the tree-tops” Stephen Crane There is a grey thing that lives in the tree-tops None know the horror of its sight Save those who meet death in the wilderness But one is enabled To see branches move at its passing To hear at times the wail of black laughter And to come often upon mystic places Places where the thing has just been.

Halloween Special: Insanity, horror-haunted by adultery and murder, with secrets and lies and talking with the dead, from America’s favorite poet. ⁓The Voice before the Void “The Witch of Coös” Robert Frost I staid the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountain, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They did all the talking. The Mother Folks think a witch who has familiar spirits She could call up to pass a winter evening, But won’t, should be burned at the stake or something. Summoning spirits isn’t “Button, button, Who’s got the button?” I’d have you understand. The Son Mother can make a common table rear And kick with two legs like an army mule. The Mother And when I’ve done it, what good have I done? Rather than tip a table for you, let me Tell you what Ralle the Sioux Control once told me. He said the dead had souls, but when I asked him How that could be—I thought the dead were souls, He broke my trance. Don’t that make you suspicious That there’s something the dead are keeping back? Yes, there’s something the dead are keeping back. The Son You wouldn’t want to tell him what we have Up attic, mother? The Mother Bones—a skeleton. The Son But the headboard of mother’s bed is pushed Against the attic door: the door is nailed. It’s harmless. Mother hears it in the night Halting perplexed behind the barrier Of door and headboard. Where it wants to get Is back into the cellar where it came from. The Mother We’ll never let them, will we, son? We’ll never! The Son It left the cellar forty years ago And carried itself like a pile of dishes Up one flight from the cellar to the kitchen, Another from the kitchen to the bedroom, Another from the bedroom to the attic, Right past both father and mother, and neither stopped it. Father had gone upstairs; mother was downstairs. I was a baby: I don’t know where I was. The Mother The only fault my husband found with me— I went to sleep before I went to bed, Especially in winter when the bed Might just as well be ice and the clothes snow. The night the bones came up the cellar-stairs Toffile had gone to bed alone and left me, But left an open door to cool the room off So as to sort of turn me out of it. I was just coming to myself enough To wonder where the cold was coming from, When I heard Toffile upstairs in the bedroom And thought I heard him downstairs in the cellar. The board we had laid down to walk dry-shod on When there was water in the cellar in spring Struck the hard cellar bottom. And then some one Began the stairs, two footsteps for each step, The way a man with one leg and a crutch, Or little child, comes up. It wasn’t Toffile: It wasn’t any one who could be there. The bulkhead double-doors were double-locked And swollen tight and buried under snow. The cellar windows were banked up with sawdust And swollen tight and buried under snow. It was the bones. I knew them—and good reason. My first impulse was to get to the knob And hold the door. But the bones didn’t try The door; they halted helpless on the landing, Waiting for things to happen in their favor. The faintest restless rustling ran all through them. I never could have done the thing I did If the wish hadn’t been too strong in me To see how they were mounted for this walk. I had a vision of them put together Not like a man, but like a chandelier.

Halloween Special: There is no curse, and there is. ⁓The Voice before the Void “Curse of the pharaohs” Wikipedia The curse of the pharaohs refers to an alleged curse believed by some to be cast upon any person who disturbs the mummy of an Ancient Egyptian person, especially a pharaoh. This curse, which does not differentiate between thieves and archaeologists, allegedly can cause bad luck, illness, or death. Since the mid-20th century, many authors and documentaries have argued that the curse is “real” in the sense of being caused by scientifically explicable causes such as bacteria or radiation. However, the modern origins of Egyptian mummy curse tales, their development primarily in European cultures, the shift from magic to science to explain curses, and their changing uses—from condemning disturbance of the dead to entertaining horror film audiences—suggest that Egyptian curses are primarily a cultural, not exclusively scientific, phenomenon. There are occasional instances of genuine ancient curses appearing inside or on the façade of a tomb, as in the case of the mastaba of Khentika Ikhekhi at Saqqara. These appear to be directed towards the ka priests to protect the tomb carefully and preserve its ritual purity rather than as a warning for potential robbers. There had been stories of curses going back to the 19th century, but they multiplied after Howard Carter’s discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun. Despite popular misconceptions, no curse was actually found inscribed in the pharaoh’s tomb. The evidence for curses relating to King Tutankhamun is considered to be so meager that Donald B. Redford viewed it as “unadulterated clap trap.” 1. Tomb curses Curses relating to tombs are extremely rare, possibly because the idea of such desecration was unthinkable and even dangerous to record in writing. They most frequently occur in private tombs of the Old Kingdom era. The tomb of Ankhtifi contains the warning: “any ruler who… shall do evil or wickedness to this coffin… may Hemen [a local deity] not accept any goods he offers, and may his heir not inherit.” The tomb of Khentika Ikhekhi contains an inscription: “As for all men who shall enter this my tomb… impure… there will be judgment… an end shall be made for him… I shall seize his neck like a bird… I shall cast the fear of myself into him.” Curses after the Old Kingdom era are less common though more severe, sometimes invoking the ire of Thoth or the destruction of Sekhemet. Zahi Hawass quotes an example of a curse: “Cursed be those who disturb the rest of a pharaoh. They that shall break the seal of this tomb shall meet death by a disease that no doctor can diagnose.” 2. Modern accounts Hieroglyphs were not deciphered until the beginning of the 19th century by Jean-François Champollion, so reports of curses prior to this are simply perceived bad luck associated with the handling of mummies and other artifacts from tombs. In 1699, Louis Penicher wrote an account in which he recorded how a Polish traveler bought two mummies in Alexandria and embarked on a sea journey with the mummies in the cargo hold. The traveler was alarmed by recurring visions of two specters, and the stormy seas did not abate until the mummies were thrown overboard. Zahi Hawass recalled that as a young archaeologist excavating at Kom Abu-Bellou he had to transport a number of artifacts from the Greco-Roman site. His cousin died on that day, on its anniversary, his uncle died and on the third anniversary his aunt died. Years later, when he excavated the tombs of the builders of the pyramids at Giza,

Halloween Special: Maupassant has a brilliant way of relating the supernatural. He does not say: “this supernatural thing happened,” a fact which would be unbelievable; instead he says: “it is said that this supernatural thing happened,” a fact which is indisputable. ⁓The Voice before the Void “The Hand” Guy de Maupassant translated from the French All were crowding around M. Bermutier, the judge, who was giving his opinion about the Saint-Cloud mystery. For a month this in explicable crime had been the talk of Paris. Nobody could make head or tail of it. M. Bermutier, standing with his back to the fireplace, was talking, citing the evidence, discussing the various theories, but arriving at no conclusion. Some women had risen, in order to get nearer to him, and were standing with their eyes fastened on the clean-shaven face of the judge, who was saying such weighty things. They, were shaking and trembling, moved by fear and curiosity, and by the eager and insatiable desire for the horrible, which haunts the soul of every woman. One of them, paler than the others, said during a pause: “It’s terrible. It verges on the supernatural. The truth will never be known.” The judge turned to her: “True, madame, it is likely that the actual facts will never be discovered. As for the word ‘supernatural’ which you have just used, it has nothing to do with the matter. We are in the presence of a very cleverly conceived and executed crime, so well enshrouded in mystery that we cannot disentangle it from the involved circumstances which surround it. But once I had to take charge of an affair in which the uncanny seemed to play a part. In fact, the case became so confused that it had to be given up.” Several women exclaimed at once: “Oh! Tell us about it!” M. Bermutier smiled in a dignified manner, as a judge should, and went on: “Do not think, however, that I, for one minute, ascribed anything in the case to supernatural influences. I believe only in normal causes. But if, instead of using the word ‘supernatural’ to express what we do not understand, we were simply to make use of the word ‘inexplicable,’ it would be much better. At any rate, in the affair of which I am about to tell you, it is especially the surrounding, preliminary circumstances which impressed me. Here are the facts: “I was, at that time, a judge at Ajaccio, a little white city on the edge of a bay which is surrounded by high mountains. “The majority of the cases which came up before me concerned vendettas. There are some that are superb, dramatic, ferocious, heroic. We find there the most beautiful causes for revenge of which one could dream, enmities hundreds of years old, quieted for a time but never extinguished; abominable stratagems, murders becoming massacres and almost deeds of glory. For two years I heard of nothing but the price of blood, of this terrible Corsican prejudice which compels revenge for insults meted out to the offending person and all his descendants and relatives. I had seen old men, children, cousins murdered; my head was full of these stories. “One day I learned that an Englishman had just hired a little villa at the end of the bay for several years. He had brought with him a French servant, whom he had engaged on the way at Marseilles. “Soon this peculiar person, living alone, only going out to hunt and fish, aroused a widespread interest. He never spoke to any one, never went to the town, and every morning he would practice for an hour or so with his revolver and rifle. “Legends were built up around him. It was said that he was some high personage, fleeing from his fatherland for political reasons; then it was affirmed that he was in hiding after having committed some abominable...

Halloween Special: Even seemingly simple poetry may reveal latent weird horror. ⁓The Voice before the Void “The Bad Kittens” Elizabeth Coatsworth You may call, you may call But the little black cats won’t hear you. The little black cats are maddened By the bright green light of the moon; They are whirling and running and hiding, They are wild who were once so confiding, They are crazed when the moon is riding– You will not catch the kittens soon. They care not for saucers of milk, They think not of pillows of silk; Your softest, crooningest call Is less than the buzzing of flies. They are seeing more than you see, They are hearing more than you hear, And out of the darkness they peer With a goblin light in their eyes!

One whose work flirts with Buddhism and beings not quite human. ⁓The Voice before the Void “Elizabeth Coatsworth” Wikipedia Elizabeth Jane Coatsworth (May 31, 1893 – August 31, 1986) was an American writer of fiction and poetry for children and adults. She won the 1931 Newbery Medal from the American Library Association recognizing The Cat Who Went to Heaven as the previous year’s “most distinguished contribution to American literature for children.” In 1968 she was a highly commended runner-up for the biennial international Hans Christian Andersen Award for children’s writers. Life Elizabeth Coatsworth was born May 31, 1893, to Ida Reid and William T. Coatsworth, a prosperous grain merchant in Buffalo, New York. Coatsworth attended Buffalo Seminary, a private girl’s school, and spent summers with her family on the Canadian shore of Lake Erie. She began traveling as a child, vising the Alps and Egypt at age five. Coatsworth graduated from Vassar College in 1915 as Salutatorian. In 1916 she received a Master of Arts from Columbia University. She then traveled to the Orient, riding horseback through the Philippines, exploring Indonesia and China, and sleeping in a Buddhist monastery. These travels would later influence her writing. In 1929, she married writer Henry Beston, with whom she had two daughters, Margaret and Catherine. They lived at Hingham, Massachusetts, and Chimney Farm, Maine. Elizabeth Coatsworth died at her home in Nobleboro, Maine, August 31, 1986. Her papers are held in the Kerlan Collection at the University of Minnesota and Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine, with a small archive from late in her career in the de Grummond Collection at the University of Southern Mississippi. Career Coatsworth began her career publishing her poetry in magazines. Her first book was a poetry collection for adults, Fox Footprints, in 1912. A conversation with her friend, Louise Seaman, who had just founded the first children’s book publishing department in the United States at Macmillan, led Coatsworth to write her first children’s book, The Cat and the Captain. In 1930, The Cat Who Went to Heaven appeared. The story of an artist who is painting a picture of Buddha for a group of monks, it won the Newbery Medal. Twentieth-Century Children’s Writers says “Coatsworth reached her apogee in her nature writing, notably ‘The Incredible Tales.'” These four books were published for adults in the 1950s. They tell the story of the Pedrys, a family living in the forests of northern Maine who may not be entirely human. Coatsworth had a long career, publishing over 90 books from 1910 to her autobiography and final book in 1976.

Halloween Special: Does knowledge of the world come through dreaming or waking? Or both? Or neither? ⁓The Voice before the Void “Caterpillars” E.F. Benson I saw a month or two ago in an Italian paper that the Villa Casana, in which I once stayed, had been pulled down, and that a manufactory of some sort was in process of erection on its site. There is therefore no longer any reason for refraining from writing of those things which I myself saw (or imagined I saw) in a certain room and on a certain landing of the villa in question, nor from mentioning the circumstances which followed, which may or may not (according to the opinion of the reader) throw some light on or be somehow connected with this experience. The Villa Casana was in all ways but one a perfectly delightful house, yet, if it were standing now, nothing in the world–I use the phrase in its literal sense–would induce me to set foot in it again, for I believe it to have been haunted in a very terrible and practical manner. Most ghosts, when all is said and done, do not do much harm; they may perhaps terrify, but the person whom they visit usually gets over their visitation. They may on the other hand be entirely friendly and beneficent. But the appearances in the Villa Casana were not beneficent, and had they made their “visit” in a very slightly different manner, I do not suppose I should have got over it any more than Arthur Inglis did. The house stood on an ilex-clad hill not far from Sestri di Levante on the Italian Riviera, looking out over the iridescent blues of that enchanted sea, while behind it rose the pale green chestnut woods that climb up the hillsides till they give place to the pines that, black in contrast with them, crown the slopes. All round it the garden in the luxuriance of mid-spring bloomed and was fragrant, and the scent of magnolia and rose, borne on the salt freshness of the winds from the sea, flowed like a stream through the cool vaulted rooms. On the ground floor a broad pillared loggia ran round three sides of the house, the top of which formed a balcony for certain rooms of the first floor. The main staircase, broad and of grey marble steps, led up from the hall to the landing outside these rooms, which were three in number, namely, two big sitting-rooms and a bedroom arranged en suite. The latter was unoccupied, the sitting-rooms were in use. From these the main staircase was continued to the second floor, where were situated certain bedrooms, one of which I occupied, while from the other side of the first-floor landing some half-dozen steps led to another suite of rooms, where, at the time I am speaking of, Arthur Inglis, the artist, had his bedroom and studio. Thus the landing outside my bedroom at the top of the house commanded both the landing of the first floor and also the steps that led to Inglis’ rooms. Jim Stanley and his wife, finally (whose guest I was), occupied rooms in another wing of the house, where also were the servants’ quarters. I arrived just in time for lunch on a brilliant noon of mid-May. The garden was shouting with colour and fragrance, and not less delightful after my broiling walk up from the marina, should have been the coming from the reverberating heat and blaze of the day into the marble coolness of the villa. Only (the reader has my bare word for this, and nothing more), the moment I set foot in the house I felt that something was wrong. This feeling, I may say, was quite vague, though very strong, and I remember that when I saw letters waiting for me on the table in the hall I felt certain that the explanation was here: I was convinced that there was bad news of some sort for me. Yet when I opened them I found no such explanation of my premonition: my correspondents all reeked of prosperity. Yet this clear miscarriage of a presentiment did not dissipate my uneasiness.

The Internet is a network, or more accurately: it is a network of connected networks. The World Wide Web is a cyberspace that exists upon the Internet… or “via”(?) the Internet. – (I don’t think our language, our human English, has words to accurately describe how networks and cyberspaces are related; for example, your brain is a neural network, or, more accurately, it is a network of networks; your consciousness (your thoughts, your memories, your emotions… your “content”(?)) exists “upon”(?) your brain. You see?: our language doesn’t really describe this.) The Deep Web is content of the World Wide Web that is not accessible through standard search engines. A darknet is a network that is built on top of, or overlaid upon, the Internet, and to which access is restricted, requiring, for example, special software or authorization. The Dark Web is content that exists on darknets. A darknet market is a marketplace that exists on a darknet. The Internet and darknets are networks; darknets overlay the Internet. Considering the World Wide Web as content on the Internet, the World Wide Web can be divided into two subsets: the Surface Web and the Deep Web. The Surface Web is content that is accessible through standard search engines. The Deep Web is content that is not accessible through standard search engines, and it is much, much larger than the Surface Web, but it is mainly composed of information in databases (databases are generally not searchable through standard search engines). However, some content of the Deep Web is not accessible by standard search engines because it exists upon darknets, and that content is called the Dark Web. The World Wide Web is the superset; the Deep Web is a subset of the World Wide Web; the Dark Web is a subset of the Deep Web; and darknet markets form a subset of the Dark Web. ⁓The Voice before the Void “Deep web (search)” Wikipedia This article is about the part of the World Wide Web not indexed by traditional search engines. For the part of the World Wide Web which exists on Darknets, see Dark Web. The Deep Web, Deep Net, Invisible Web, or Hidden Web are search terms referring to the content on the World Wide Web that is not indexed by standard search engines. Computer scientist Michael K. Bergman is credited with coining the term in 2000. 1. Terminology conflation The first conflation of the terms came about in 2009 when Deep Web search terminology was discussed alongside illegal activities taking place on the darknet Freenet. In subsequent media reporting about the darknet market Silk Road, many commentators and media outlets have taken to using the term “Deep Web” synonymously with the terms “Dark Web” and “Darknet,” a comparison BrightPlanet Corporation rejects as inaccurate, and consequently is an ongoing source of confusion. Wired reporters Kim Zetter and Andy Greenberg recommend the terms be used in distinct fashions. 2. Size In the year 2000, Michael K. Bergman said how searching on the Internet can be compared to dragging a net across the surface of the ocean: a great deal may be caught in the net, but there is a wealth of information that is deep and therefore missed. Most of the web’s information is buried far down on sites, and standard search engines do not find it. Traditional search engines cannot see or retrieve content in the Deep Web. The portion of the web that is indexed by standard search engines is known as the Surface Web. As of 2001, the Deep Web was several orders of magnitude larger than the Surface Web.

Apparently, Bigfoots have individuating characteristics and long lifespans. “Bigfoot” does start to sound less like a mythical creature, more like a species of large primate. ⁓The Voice before the Void “Pre Cambrian Shield Man Seen by Two Prospectors” North Bay Nugget, North Bay, Ontario, Canada Cobalt, Ontario, Canada July 27, 1923 Mr. J. A. MacAuley and Mr. Lorno Wilson claim they have seen the “Pre-Cambrian shield man” while working on their mining claims North and East of the Wettlaufer Mine, near Cobalt. This is the second time in seventeen years that a hairy ape-like creature nicknamed “Old Yellow-Top” because of a light colored mane has been seen in the district. The two prospectors said they were taking test samples from their claim property when they spotted what looked like a bear picking in a blueberry patch. Mr. Wilson said he threw a stone at the creature. He said, “It kind of stood up and growled at us, then ran away. It sure was like no bear I have ever seen. Its head was kind of yellow and the rest of it was black, like a bear, all covered with hair.” The first report of the creature was made in Sept. 1906, by a group of men building the head frame at the Violet Mine, east of Cobalt. It had not been seen since that time. “Old Yellow Top” Wikipedia Old Yellow Top was reported to be a 7-foot (2-meter) tall Sasquatch-like creature that was sighted several times around the town of Cobalt, Ontario, Canada, during the 20th century. Descriptions of the creature by eyewitnesses closely resembled that of a Sasquatch; however, Old Yellow Top had a blonde patch of hair on its head and a light-coloured mane, which accounted for the creature’s name. Alleged sightings took place over a 64-year period, with the first reported sighting in September 1906, the second in July 1923, and the third in April 1947. The last reported sighting took place on August 4, 1970. Twenty-seven miners in a bus were on their way to work the graveyard shift at Cobalt Lode Mine when the creature walked across the road in front of them, causing the driver to lose control of the bus and nearly plunge down a rock cut.

“Fencing” The Voice before the Void Brandishing practice swords And filing little foils for use In fanaticism Or farcicals Practice a pursuit of perfection And forget failures For swordpoints sting, waver, Thrust And piles of prison release papers File into rust cabinets Bend, lunge, Thrust And parry Swords are for beheading Crimes for forgetting Sport is state-sanctioned Fun is funded Sports halls sprout Ubiquitously Players bow, furrow Ceremoniously Games begin Surreptitiously One wrong move And you blow out your knee One false foot And you lose your head

American poetry. ⁓The Voice before the Void “Tired” Fenton Johnson I am tired of work; I am tired of building up somebody else’s civilization. Let us take a rest, M’lissy Jane. I will go down to the Last Chance Saloon, drink a gallon or two of gin, shoot a game or two of dice and sleep the rest of the night on one of Mike’s barrels. You will let the old shanty go to rot, the white people’s clothes turn to dust, and the Cavalry Baptist Church sink to the bottomless pit. You will spend your days forgetting you married me and your nights hunting the warm gin Mike serves the ladies in the rear of the Last Chance Saloon. Throw the children in the river; civilization has given us too many. It is better to die than it is to grow up and find out that you are colored. Pluck the stars out of the heavens. The stars mark our destiny. The stars marked my destiny. I am tired of civilization.

H.P. Lovecraft’s Birthday Special: A decidedly Dunsanian fantasy adventure. ⁓The Voice before the Void “The Hoard of The Wizarrd-Beast” H.P. Lovecraft and R.H. Barlow There had happened in the teeming and many-towered city of Zeth one of those incidents which are prone to take place in all capitals of all worlds. Nor, simply because Zeth lies on a planet of strange beasts and stranger vegetation, did this incident differ greatly from what might have occurred in London or Paris or any of the great governing towns we know. Through the cleverly concealed dishonesty of an aged but shrewd official, the treasury was exhausted. No shining phrulder, as of old, lay stacked about the strong-room; and over empty coffers the sardonic spider wove webs of mocking design. When, at last, the giphath Yalden entered that obscure vault and discovered the thefts, there were left only some phlegmatic rats which peered sharply at him as at an alien intruder. There had been no accountings since Kishan the old keeper had died many moon-turns before, and great was Yalden’s dismay to find this emptiness instead of the expected wealth. The indifference of the small creatures in the cracks between the flagstones could not spread itself to him. This was a very grave matter, and would have to be met in a very prompt and serious way. Clearly, there was nothing to do but consult Oorn, and Oorn was a highly portentous being. Oorn, though a creature of extremely doubtful nature, was the virtual ruler of Zeth. It obviously belonged somewhere in the outer abyss, but had blundered into Zeth one night and suffered capture by the shamith priests. The coincidence of Its excessively bizarre aspect and Its innate gift of mimicry had impressed the sacred brothers as offering vast possibilities, hence in the end they had set It up as a god and an oracle, organising a new brotherhood to serve It—and incidentally to suggest the edicts It should utter and the replies It should give. Like the Delphi and Dodona of a later world, Oorn grew famous as a giver of judgments and solver of riddles; nor did Its essence differ from them save that It lay infinitely earlier in Time, and upon an elder world where all things might happen. And now Yalden, being not above the credulousness of his day and planet, had set out for the close-guarded and richly-fitted hall wherein Oorn brooded and mimicked the promptings of the priests. When Yalden came within sight of the Hall, with its tower of blue tile, he became properly religious, and entered the building acceptably, in a humble manner which greatly impeded progress. According to custom, the guardians of the deity acknowledged his obeisance and pecuniary offering, and retired behind heavy curtains to ignite the thuribles. After everything was in readiness, Yalden murmured a conventional prayer and bowed low before a curious empty dais studded with exotic jewels. For a moment—as the ritual prescribed—he stayed in this abased position, and when he arose the dais was no longer empty. Unconcernedly munching something the priests had given It was a large pudgy creature very hard to describe, and covered with short grey fur. Whence It had come in so brief a time only the priests might tell, but the suppliant knew that It was Oorn. Hesitantly Yalden stated his unfortunate mission and asked advice; weaving into his discourse the type of flattery which seemed to him most discreet. Then, with anxiety, he awaited the oracle’s response. Having tidily finished Its food, Oorn raised three small reddish eyes to Yalden and uttered certain words in a tone of vast decisiveness: “Gumay ere hfotuol leheht teg.” After this It vanished suddenly in a cloud of pink smoke which seemed to issue from behind the curtain where the acolytes were. The acolytes then came forth from their hiding-place and spoke to Yalden, saying: “Since you have pleased the deity with your concise statement of a v...

An ancient tomb in Italy bears the only known picture of a mysterious monster of the underworld. ⁓The Voice before the Void “Tomb of Orcus” Wikipedia The Tomb of Orcus (Italian: Tomba dell’Orco), sometimes called the Tomb of Murina, is a 4th-century BCE Etruscan hypogeum (burial chamber) in Tarquinia, Italy. Discovered in 1868, it displays Hellenistic influences in its remarkable murals, which include the portrait of Velia Velcha, an Etruscan noblewoman, and the only known pictorial representation of the daemon Tuchulcha. In general, the murals are noted for their depiction of death, evil, and unhappiness. Because the tomb was built in two sections at two stages, it is sometimes referred to as the Tombs of Orcus I and II; it is believed to have belonged to the Murina family, an offshoot of the Etruscan Spurinnae. The foundation is inscribed with the following enigmatic phrase: “Larthiale Hulchniesi Marcesi Caliathesi munisule nacnvaiasi thamuce Le…” which may be interpreted as: “Le[ive] erected this monument for posterity [during the magistracy] of Larth Hulchnie and Marce Caliathe.” 1. History Orcus I was built between 470 and 450 BCE; a separate hypogeum, Orcus II, was built c. 325 BCE. At some point in antiquity, the wall between the two was removed, creating a large tomb with two dromes (entrances). The tomb was excavated in 1868 by an officer of the French Army. Upon its discovery, the excavator mistook the painting of the cyclops for the Roman god of the underworld, Orcus, hence the name “Tomb of Orcus.” The Italian name (Tomba dell’Orco) can also mean “Tomb of the Ogre,” and it is used that way in Italy today. The second tomb has never been fully excavated. 2. Murals Though most of the walls are muraled, the artists did not complete the ceiling. A scientific analysis in 2001 revealed that the paint used contained cinnabar, ochre, orpiment, calcite, copper, and Egyptian blue. While the artwork in Orcus I is highly praised (particularly the painting of Velia Velcha), some of the artwork of Orcus II is considered poorly done. It is likely that the French excavators of the tomb tried to remove some of the murals for exhibition in the Louvre, which resulted in significant deterioration. 2.1 Orcus I The Tomb of Orcus I (also known as the Tomb of Velcha) was constructed between 470 and 450 BCE. The main and right walls depict a banquet, believed to be the Spurinnae after their death in the Battle of Syracuse. The banqueters are surrounded by daemons who serve as cupbearers. One of the banqueters is a noblewoman named Velia Velcha (or by some interpretations, Velia Spurinna), whose portrait has been called the “Mona Lisa of antiquity.” Her realistic profile (especially her eye) bears the influence of Hellenistic art. Unlike the Mona Lisa, however, she is noted for her grimace or sneer. 2.2 Orcus II The Tomb of Orcus II (sometimes distinguished as the Tomb of Orcus) was constructed over a hundred years after Orcus I, around 325 BCE. Its entrance is guarded by paintings of “Charun” (Charon), the keeper of the underworld, and a cyclops (possibly Polyphemus or Geryon). The back wall depicts a funeral procession overseen by “Aita” (Hades), the Etruscan god of the underworld, and his wife “Phersipnei” (Persephone). The left wall is believed to depict Agamemnon, Tiresias, and Ajax in the underworld.

Let’s say it was ice. But it was Cthulhu. ⁓The Voice before the Void “Bloop” Wikipedia Bloop was an ultra-low-frequency and extremely powerful underwater sound detected by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) in 1997. The sound was consistent with the noises generated by icequakes in large icebergs, or large icebergs scraping the ocean floor. Analysis The sound’s source was roughly triangulated to 50°S 100°W (a remote point in the south Pacific Ocean west of the southern tip of South America), and the sound was detected several times by the Equatorial Pacific Ocean autonomous hydrophone array. This system is primarily used to monitor undersea seismicity, ice noise, and marine mammal population and migration. This system was developed to augment NOAA’s use of the U.S. Navy Sound Surveillance System (SOSUS), which was equipment originally designed to detect Soviet submarines. According to the NOAA description, it “r[ose] rapidly in frequency over about one minute and was of sufficient amplitude to be heard on multiple sensors, at a range of over 5,000 km.” The NOAA’s Dr. Christopher Fox did not believe its origin was man-made, such as a submarine or bomb, nor familiar geological events such as volcanoes or earthquakes. While the audio profile of Bloop does resemble that of a living creature, the source was a mystery both because it was different from known sounds and because it was several times louder than the loudest recorded animal, the blue whale. Fox initially speculated that Bloop may be ice calving in Antarctica. A year later, journalist David Wolman paraphrased Dr. Fox’s updated opinion that it was probably animal in origin: “Fox’s hunch is that the sound nicknamed Bloop is the most likely to come from some sort of animal, because its signature is a rapid variation in frequency similar to that of sounds known to be made by marine beasts. There’s one crucial difference, however: in 1997 Bloop was detected by sensors up to 4,800 kilometres apart. That means it must be far louder than any whale noise, or any other animal noise for that matter. Is it even remotely possible that some creature bigger than any whale is lurking in the ocean depths? Or, perhaps more likely, something that is much more efficient at making sound?” The NOAA Vents Program has since then attributed the sound to that of a large icequake. Numerous icequakes share similar spectrograms with Bloop, as well as the amplitude necessary to spot them despite ranges exceeding 5,000 km. This was found during the tracking of iceberg A53a as it disintegrated near South Georgia Island in early 2008. If this is indeed the origin of Bloop, the iceberg or icebergs involved in generating the sound were most likely between Bransfield Straits and the Ross Sea; or possibly at Cape Adare, a well-known source of cryogenic signals.

Cosmic horror. / However phantasmical his narratives may be, Lovecraft’s assertion that it is horrific to ponder what immensities in our universe must lie hidden from us oozes through as profoundly true. / (R’lyeh might be the capital of North Carolina.) ⁓The Voice before the Void “The Call of Cthulhu” H.P. Lovecraft Of such great powers or beings there may be conceivably a survival… a survival of a hugely remote period when… consciousness was manifested, perhaps, in shapes and forms long since withdrawn before the tide of advancing humanity… forms of which poetry and legend alone have caught a flying memory and called them gods, monsters, mythical beings of all sorts and kinds… –Algernon Blackwood I. The Horror in Clay The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age. Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the cosmic cycle wherein our world and human race form transient incidents. They have hinted at strange survivals in terms which would freeze the blood if not masked by a bland optimism. But it is not from them that there came the single glimpse of forbidden eons which chills me when I think of it and maddens me when I dream of it. That glimpse, like all dread glimpses of truth, flashed out from an accidental piecing together of separated things – in this case an old newspaper item and the notes of a dead professor. I hope that no one else will accomplish this piecing out; certainly, if I live, I shall never knowingly supply a link in so hideous a chain. I think that the professor, too intended to keep silent regarding the part he knew, and that he would have destroyed his notes had not sudden death seized him. My knowledge of the thing began in the winter of 1926-27 with the death of my great-uncle, George Gammell Angell, Professor Emeritus of Semitic Languages in Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island. Professor Angell was widely known as an authority on ancient inscriptions, and had frequently been resorted to by the heads of prominent museums; so that his passing at the age of ninety-two may be recalled by many. Locally, interest was intensified by the obscurity of the cause of death. The professor had been stricken whilst returning from the Newport boat; falling suddenly; as witnesses said, after having been jostled by a nautical-looking negro who had come from one of the queer dark courts on the precipitous hillside which formed a short cut from the waterfront to the deceased’s home in Williams Street. Physicians were unable to find any visible disorder, but concluded after perplexed debate that some obscure lesion of the heart, induced by the brisk ascent of so steep a hill by so elderly a man, was responsible for the end. At the time I saw no reason to dissent from this dictum, but latterly I am inclined to wonder – and more than wonder. As my great-uncle’s heir and executor, for he died a childless widower, I was expected to go over his papers with some thoroughness; and for that purpose moved his entire set of files and boxes to my quarters in Boston.