On That You Can R’lyeh

This relates to the true facts of the case of the old English castle that was damaged during the recent storms. Sensitive types and clergymen in nearby villages reported strange dreams that night. If these accounts weren’t all of a piece, it would have been easier to dismiss. They spoke of “horrors” which came from the sea. But it was a nasty storm, and nerves (and tempers) are bound to get frayed at such times. Signs of a pitched battle were likewise dismissed as storm damage. And nobody knew quite what to make of what appeared to be a bronze helmet (which later disappeared) found nearby. The following account appeared in an esoteric magazine, purporting to be a true description of events of that night:

It makes for a pretty picture, the maid in armour on the battlements, hair flying back in the roaring winds howling along the entire coast, as she peers out into the murksome night. Roiling seas churning at the beach and the sea walls as, offshore, an eerie glowing rift seems to open up in the air.

The girl in the armour does two things in response to this. She lifts an old battle horn to her lips and draws an old, old sword. The sound of the horn blows out across the bay with a fearful echo just as the first … things writhe out of the waves. Along the battlements, empty just a moment before, dim outlines begin to appear, faint at first, but then more definite. And the sounding notes of the battle horn coalesce into a continuing thrum of music even after the horn is lowered again.

Hideous cries permeate the air from the direction of the beach. Slithering phosphorescent tentacled and beclawed creatures approach. Horrors from another dimension. Further inland, the lights go out to the creak of falling power lines and trees. The salty spray bourne on the wind reaches even here, where the lights are of a different colour. Illuminated figures of soldiers of old pace the walls. And cannon long presumed melted down are wheeled up once more.

Drawing up on the beach, the extra-dimensional horrors bid their defiance with hideous wails and gurgling cries, and a barnacle-crusted monster in twisted armour and a weird, crowned sea-gold helm paces the lines and masses with grim anticipation, waving a strange fork-hilted blade.

On the redoubt, the girl in armour turns to the side, as the ghosts of the last longbowmen, the militia of Shakespeare’s day, draw back their bows for one last volley. The girl in armour lifts off her helmet and lifts her voice: ‘Let it not be said that there is not life in England yet. Give them a volley!’

A cloud of shimmering arrows rises and thuds into the sands in front of the host of horrors.

‘Back to the sea and beyond with you, you haunters of the outer dark. You are not welcome here, nor any of your kind. Spirits of another age, arise! Do battle for your land of yore, preserve the bounds, defend the lines, and kick these things from another realm back from whence they came! Gunners, make ready. Bowmen, on my mark …’

The fishy-smelling host from the sea began to move towards them, lightning flashed, seeming to shine on wings and armour and sea-blonde hair and a strange wide smile and eyes that looked back to another age.

*

The next morning, surveying the damage, the local constables thought a freak lightning storm must have danced up and down the beach all night long. Fortunately the sea seemed to have washed out any fires before they could take hold, along with a lot of the debris …

… One thing did puzzle them, though. On the beach, as has been previously indicated, they found an old helmet, made of a strange kind of brass or bronze. One of the wings at the side had been almost sheared away and there were a few strands of golden hair clinging to it. A child must have tried it on, looking to see what the storm had washed up …

There was also a bit of good news. A swimmer was miraculously washed ashore during the night, very, very lucky to be alive. She was a bit the worse for wear from being thrown about by the sea, and she must have collided with some sharp rocks at some point – a long bruise ran up one side of her face, and she had some nasty cuts and gashes. She thanked them very gravely for their help when she woke up, and accepted a blanket and a cup of tea. She had a very winning smile, the constables mentioned.

Later, they gave her a lift back to the seaside hotel where she was staying, where she again thanked them very kindly for their help.

Funny thing, the helmet later disappeared, and the constables couldn’t remember the address of her hotel. Or, the one they thought they delivered her to turned out to have been closed for many years and was no longer there. But there was a lot of confusion after the storm, and a lot of damage to deal with, so no one was going to get too upset as long as everyone was all right.

These things happen, you know …