Reincarnated Cthulhu

Chapter 16

16. Letter from Newgate

#1

October 25, 1895

Dearest and esteemed second elder brother,

I am filled with regret as I must burden you with woeful tidings, a lamentable intrusion after an extended period of silence.

The passage of time eludes me, slipping through my grasp like quicksilver. The sun rises and sets, yet its warm rays are thwarted by the cruel iron bars that confine me, denying me even a sliver of their radiant light.

Surely, you must have received news of my apprehension, for I find myself imprisoned within the formidable walls of Newgate.

Fortunately, the prison governor has recognized the frailty of my constitution and spared me from the rigors of hard labor. He went so far as to inquire if I required a special diet, an offer I declined with utmost humility. I, a transgressor of the highest order, must partake in the same meager sustenance as my fellow captives.

However, I beseeched the authorities for a solitary indulgence, a request to pen letters, and they have graciously provided me with ink and parchment. Curiously, the governor seems to oscillate between disdain and pity in his regard for my wretched state, a contradiction that lends a modicum of solace to my existence within these desolate walls.

Memories now seem but faint whispers, evading my grasp like elusive phantoms. How did the trial unfold? What verdict was pronounced upon my head? Have I been accused of the full breadth of my transgressions? My heart quivers with unease, fearing that my clouded mind may hinder the full recompense for my sins.

Within the confines of my meager chamber in Newgate, a persistent symphony echoes through the veil of solitudean incessant crash of waves upon a distant shore.

Behind my heavy-lidded eyes, a vision unfoldsan ethereal nocturnal sea that defies the bounds of mortal comprehension.

It is a beach, shrouded in obsidian darkness, impervious to the caress of moonbeams or starlight. The horizon remains an impenetrable enigma, cloaked in an immeasurable void. In this realm, only I, the ceaseless sea, and the enveloping darkness exist.

With each surge of the incoming tide, the ocean inches closer, its frothy fingers sweeping gently against my weary feet. Uncertainty shrouds my consciousnessdo I draw near to the sea, or does it, with relentless determination, draw near to me? Yet, with each languid blink, the distance diminishes infinitesimally.

In this fantastical vista, solace awaits me. Though my body languishes in this confined cell, my soul traverses boundless astral planes, unencumbered like the legendary Faust himself. The rhythmic cadence of the waves lulls my tormented spirit, evoking the dulcet strains of a music box.

Yet, when my eyes reluctantly open, reality floods back with cruel swiftness.

I am thrust once more into the harsh embrace of my solitary abode, a 5-square-meter cell within the formidable confines of Newgate Prison, ensconced within the heart of London. Each time, an ache for the wondrous sea I have beheld seizes my being, leaving me disquieted and longing.

Fear not, dear brother, for I shall endeavor to correspond with you in due time. I implore you, exercise caution in your wanderingssteer clear of the treacherous waters of the Thames and the somber recesses of dark alleys.

Yours in unutterable shame,

Philemon Herbert

#2

November 7, 1895

Respected and beloved second elder brother,

Your missive arrived intact, every word preserved, contrary to your apprehensions. At present, they seem to bestow upon me a modicum of care, alleviating the burden of your worry.

As you so astutely noted, a letter from our esteemed eldest brother found its way into my possession. It held such little worth that I deemed it fit for naught but wiping away the refuse of my existence, consigning it to the void. (Had he but known of the scarcity of toilet paper within these walls and sent it with that purpose in mind, it would have been the most meaningful contribution he could have made.)

Within the confines of this prison, time evades my senses, slipping through my grasp like ethereal mist. The cell remains devoid of warmth, and the encroaching chill pervades, gnawing at my very core. Does autumn still hold sway beyond these grim walls? If so, I may not withstand the harsh winter that looms.

A dearth of warmth emanates from within me. Am I being punished in this living state? Or have I descended into the abyss of Tartarus, where the sun's caress is forever absent?

I remain seated upon that somber shore, ensnared by its unforgiving embrace.

Though my body languishes in the clutches of illness, my mind finds an unusual clarity within these confines. This realization, however, torments me. The once romantic notion of the encroaching sea now rings hollow in my ears.

The ocean that surrounds me exudes a frigidity that freezes the very essence of the soul. Rather than submerging me in its depths, the shoreline cruelly strips away any vestiges of warmth with each relentless wave that assails my feet and legs. There is no respite, no solace in this place bereft of the sun's gentle touch. I gasp, for the moment approaches when I shall be swallowed by this ebony sea.

A sliver of inky luminescence emerges from the horizon, a realm untouched by the moon's gentle glow or the shimmer of distant stars. Could it be that the sun rises even in this desolate realm? My yearning intensifies, a fervent desire for the fiery embrace that would liquefy my corporeal form. Anything, however consuming, would be preferable. I eagerly await the advent of the sun above that darkened horizon, pleading for its swift arrival.

From your humble and forlorn younger brother,

Philemon Herbert

P.S. If the embers of affection for your wretched sibling yet flicker within your heart, I beseech you, send forth a blanket to ward off the biting chill. Otherwise, I implore you to release me from your thoughts, severing the tether that binds us, accompanying this epistle to oblivion.

#3

November 19, 1895

Respected and esteemed second elder brother,

(I apologize for the alteration in my penmanship, as I have entrusted another to wield the brush in my stead, for my hands remain shackled and unyielding.)

I beseech you to understand that though your concerns of my entanglement within delusions hold merit, I implore you to recognize the abundance of time I spend ensconced in slumber, eclipsing the realms of reality.

During these somnolent interludes, an alien presence takes root within my very being. He, a malevolent entity, confronts the jailer with a volley of profanities, uttered in a language hitherto unfamiliar to my ears. Moreover, he subjects my physical form to his sadistic whims, rending flesh and sinew with jagged nails. Even the blanket you so graciously sent has fallen victim to his voracity. Please understand, dear brother, it is not my volition that rends these material possessions asunder; it is the beast lurking within, a sinister force I cannot control.

Now, even within the confines of this minuscule prison, my movements are restricted, limbs ensnared, and the quill withheld from my grasp. Oh, the realization that an abhorrent evil resides within me is an alarming and disquieting truth!

I, a sinner, find myself confined not solely within these oppressive walls but also compelled to bear witness to the relentless presence of this abominable creature, a penance for the sins I am fated to commit.

Of late, I have come to discern that my vigil is not without witnesses. Those lurking beneath the murky depths of that ebony sea, spoken of so frequently, have unveiled their presence. Cunningly concealed beneath the guise of undulating waves, they have finally revealed themselves as the sea water encroaches upon my ankles, granting me a glimpse into their realm.

Now I comprehend the allure of this seemingly resplendent sea.

Within its depths, life has foundered and perished, transforming it into a realm of desolation and death. Once a beacon of ethereal beauty, it now assumes a repulsive and grotesque visage.

The purpose of their scrutiny eludes me, and I remain bereft of understanding. They merely await the moment when I succumb to the watery abyss. Though that fateful instant draws near, my soul remains tethered to this realm, unable to take flight.

The ebony radiance I previously alluded to gradually materializes on the distant horizon. It exudes an ominous aura, a menace that defies description by the limits of my philosophical lexicon. Yet, its malevolence is palpable, directed squarely at my beleaguered existence.

The malevolence of this light is directed toward me!

I shudder to contemplate the impact it shall have upon my sanity when it ascends above the shoreline. Alas, my head is unable to turn, and departure from this forsaken coast is an unattainable fantasy. Therefore, I must fixate my gaze upon the horizon until that fateful moment arrives.

This cruel and merciless judgment befalls my sinful self with unwavering severity. Dearest brother, fear grips me tightly, entwining itself around my every waking hour, as I dread whether my soul shall find reprieve upon this terrestrial plane. Even now, as I pen these words, the shoreline relentlessly advances. Ia, ia

From the depths of the sea, a cacophony ensues, a resonant cry calling my name. Can it be Curie?

I must bring this correspondence to a close for now.

Yours, ever-humbled, as a younger brother,

Philemon Herbert

November 25, 1895

The night held Newgate prison in its grip as the resounding crash of waves roused both inmates and guards from their slumber. Chaos and confusion ensued, providing me with a stolen moment to acquire pen and paper amidst the clamor, granting me the means to pen this missive.

Throughout the night, the guards tirelessly searched for the elusive source of the sound, unaware that only I possess the knowledge of its origin. Their efforts shall prove futile, for the sound emerges from the recesses of space, where no glimmer of light may penetrate.

Indeed, the expansive coastline, once believed to exist solely within the confines of my own delusions, reveals itself as a desolate planet adrift in the cosmic expanse. Since my realization, dire prophecies have plagued my mind, foretelling a grim and foreboding future.

In that frigid abode, where all life in the universe has met its demise and stars have faded into oblivion, they endure.

The Old Ones! Their presence inspires dread! The black dwarf star that has yet to ascend is naught but an illusion of the sun. The planet, having exceeded its destined lifespan, hosts naught but primordial fungi upon its desolate surface.

No longer do they merely mimic the ebb and flow of the waves. They have emerged from the depths, breaching the surface of the enigmatic sea, silently observing my every move. They bide their time, awaiting the moment when I shall be completely engulfed.

Once I am submerged within this stygian sea, I shall become their vessel, their conduit.

This blackened sea shall surge forth, traversing dimensions, rending my eardrums and piercing my retinas. Do you comprehend the magnitude? Even if all continents were stripped bare, their essence would fail to fill this seemingly bottomless expanse. The inevitable outcome, my dear brother, is the submersion of the Earth beneath these treacherous tides.

Ah, even now, as I close my eyes, I envision it. The sea rises, surpassing the limits of the darkened horizon. Have you ever witnessed the waves ascend to meet the very precipice of the heavens? Have you ever beheld the ghastly sight of a lifeless sea, its fetid waters stained with the decay of its own algae, bridging the chasm between the vastness of space and the celestial dome? Have you ever witnessed its relentless advance, drawing ever closer to me?

The true meaning of its name has been unveiled to me. Though I encountered it within the pages of literary tomes, comprehension eluded me until this very moment. The name, the name!

#5

On the prison cell wall

Ia Ia Dagon Fhtagn! Yjzuq'hacha Fhanglu Fhtagn! Hyhm'fku mak Unn'gu-rah

Since that memorable day, the capacity to inscribe another letter has evaded my grasp.

In time, the riddle of how I procured a pen within my confinement remained unsolved, and upon discovering that I had used my own lifeblood as a medium to express my tormented psyche on the grim walls, the wardens of my incarceration beheld me with revulsion. I was cast aside, as none dared to converse or even venture close to my proximity.

Whether their intent was to condemn me to a slow demise by starvation remains uncertain. I was served no morsels of nourishment nor granted the mercy of even a drop of water. Strangely, despite this deprivation, my body seemed to accrue vitality with each passing day. I spent my hours ensnared in solitude, my gaze fixed upon the mold-ridden wall of my cell.

The illusory auditory phenomenon of the sound of waves, which I had once perceived in my solitude, had now become an eerie melody heard by every soul confined within Newgate.

Each night, prisoners and wardens alike were tortured by fear and anxiety, their screams echoing through the cold stone corridors. The entire prison was enmeshed in a colossal nightmare, and they were all trapped within the same horrifying dream. Yet I, I was immune to their collective terror. Regardless of their clamor, all I could discern was the rhythmic sound of waves.

Though still trapped within my diminutive cell, my being was infused with the acrid stench of seawater, reminiscent of a wasteland where life had once flourished but was now bereft.

Creak Creak

"Prisoner!"

The cell door creaked open, and a sliver of light infiltrated the gloom. I blinked as if emerging from an extended slumber. The sudden influx of light was painful, as though my eyes were witnessing illumination for the first time.

"Get out."

It took me a moment to comprehend the simple command.

"Is my sentence being executed?"

The guard offered no response, merely unfastening the manacles from my limbs and placing a staff beside me. With considerable effort, I grasped it and rose to my feet. My long-dormant muscles screamed in protest.

"Where are we going?"

The guard offered no response to my inquiry. I was under the impression that we were descending deeper into the depths of the prison. They returned all the possessions that were stripped from me upon my arrival, and I was then expelled from the entrance of the prison.

"Philemon Herbert, you are hereby released on bail."

"Impossible!"

In that moment, I fathomed the situation. An intervention had taken place. There were few in my circle with the capacity to orchestrate such a feat. Instantly, I recognized the silhouette of the man standing against the sun.

"You appear more robust than I anticipated."

"Art!"

My faculties nearly betrayed me at his appearance.The sourc𝗲 of this content nov(𝒆l)bi((n))

"You could not possibly fathom the ordeal it was to secure your release. I presumed it would be a mere matter of remunerating the court for your bail, but it proved more complex. I have spent the last month in ceaseless appointments, often with the most unapproachable figures in all of London."

Arthur relayed his feats with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a child.

"Art, you have blundered gravely. I ought to remain confined!"

"Enough."

Arthur furrowed his brow in evident frustration.

"Is this the gratitude I receive after negotiating with those bigoted, ignorant noblemen to free you? Is it my folly for not even anticipating a word of thanks?"

His reproach left me gasping for breath.

"Yes you are correct, undoubtedly."

"We have a multitude of tasks to undertake and much to discuss. As I have iterated from the very beginning, that woman's influence upon you has been destructive. Reflect upon these past months."

Arthur gave a comforting pat on my shoulder and began moving towards the carriage he had prepared.

"Art, heed me, I have been driven to madness. I am deranged."

"There is always a solution. Coincidentally, a neurosurgeon acquaintance of mine has just returned from the Netherlands, or perhaps we could seek assistance from that renowned Austrian psychoanalyst. It is high time for the Frank academic symposium to regain its former glory."

"But it is not about that, my mind, my very mind."

I felt utterly impotent in conveying the ordeal I was experiencing. How could I encapsulate the terror of anticipating invaders from the distant cosmos breaching the sanctuary of my psyche?

I needed a solution, one more immediate. For instance death! The thought of immolating my own physical form, which they sought to inhabit, seemed like the only reasonable recourse.

"A method! Indeed, that's it!"

I frantically rummaged through my coat pocket. As anticipated, it remained untouched, in its pristine state. Arthur's curiosity was piqued by the unfamiliar object.

"What might that be?"

"Pure reason."

Hyde. The living legacy of Dr. Jekyll still resided within the ampoule. The distilled essence of humanity, extracted from the creature of Silgwyn forest Could it mend my fractured psyche? If I were to survive, would I retain my former human essence?

I faltered at the precipice of the decision. Arthur lifted his hand to his ear.

"Has there been a sound of waves crashing for some time now?"

In that instant, I consumed the contents of the ampoule.

..

..

.

Indeed, this constitutes the initial tale I have assembled for you.

It chronicles my experiences as a survivor, as I clandestinely scrutinized the shadowy underbelly of our Earth and observed my consciousness shattering into innumerable fragments, more abundant than the dust particles in a nebula. Even as I pen this, my ego diffuses prismatically, undergoing countless divisions and unifications.

Yes, I am referring to a veritable legion of identities within my mind, a conglomerate I liken to an ensemble of so-called readers.

Nevertheless, this narrative has barely commenced. It serves merely as a prelude to the forthcoming nightmares and torments that await my witness and endurance. There is an abundance of occurrences to relay, and precious little time to do so.

Ah, I must not overlook the unfortunate series of events that befell dear Shirley Marie.

TRIVIA

Faust is a legendary German figure who is said to have made a pact with the Devil in exchange for knowledge and power. The story of Faust has been told and retold in many different forms, including plays, operas, and novels.

The most famous version of the Faust story is Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's two-part play, Faust, which was first published in 1808. In Goethe's play, Faust is a learned man who is dissatisfied with his life. He makes a pact with Mephistopheles, the Devil, in exchange for knowledge and power. Faust uses his newfound powers to experience all that life has to offer, but he eventually comes to regret his bargain. In the end, Faust is saved from damnation by the love of Gretchen, a young woman whom he had seduced.

The Faust story has been interpreted in many different ways. Some see it as a cautionary tale about the dangers of ambition and the importance of humility. Others see it as a story about the human desire for knowledge and experience. Still others see it as a story about the power of love and redemption.

The Faust story continues to be relevant today because it explores universal themes such as the struggle between good and evil, the nature of knowledge and power, and the meaning of life.