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Edited by Allen Mackey


compiled by Melissa Brand

Part One: Immanentizing the Eschaton

Board of
MA 01970
23, 1995

Levias Markle
P.O. Box 1752
Chickasha, OK 73033

Dear Levias,

Haven’t heard from you in a while. How is everything in your

neck of the woods? More “paranormal” activity than usual? Here,
things aren’t so good. I’m certain that by now you are aware of the
alarming trend of ongoing extrinsic disturbances. Reports have been
trickling in from all corners of the globe concerning this renewed
activity. The best mindsd of the CCCC have been warning us of an
impending doom, the likes of which the world hasn’t seen since time
immemorial. Even The Fury of 1980 (caused y the exploits of the
Wilmarth Foundation–their attempt to destroy Dagon, Hydra and
Cthylla, remember? Project X, I think they called it) will pale in
significance to The Great Awakening, the telepaths are saying, and I
believe them. The mind parasites, the Great Old Ones, are slowly
regaining consciousness and the star-stones are not as effective as
before. In fact, most of the damned things are useless–at least the
duplicated ones; the original Mnaran stars from Saudi Arabia still
afford a little protection.
Worst of all, it seems that the prime member of the Great Old
Ones–at least here on Earth–is already awake. Peter Dithers, one of
our best telepaths, recently violated all codes and regulations and
mentally probed the depths of R’lyeh. He operated on his own; I
certainly would not have authorize such an experiment! The poor
wretch is not quite insane. Institutionalized, all he can do now is
gibber, “He is awake . . . he is awake . . .” over and over in his padded
cell. How hideously alien Cthulhu’s mind must be! The incident
serves to strengthen my secret resolve to eradicate the world of their
filth but I have no faith in our potential to do just that. After all, they
made us! We can’t even destroy our own false idols and religions;
what makes anyone think that we can destroy our true makers? Yet,
in our supreme (“divine”!) human arrogance, we will attempt to find a
way. But, arrogant or not, we must conquer and banish them! (Of
course, I’m writing tongue-in-cheek; by “we” I mean the human race
in general and, in particular, the organization bent on erasing our
archetypes–which cannot be done, in my opinion.)
Yes, the Great Old Ones are stirring in their tombs, and in the
secret places between the spheres and so on, tightening their hold on
their minions. I know that you are gifted psychically–you would do
well to take precautions, especially before you go to sleep. And
another thing, keep your Crystallizer of Dream locked away in a lead
box–it has to be lead–don’t take any more chances than you have to.
More than a dozen of our best dreamscryers have gone mad from the
foul messages exuded by Cthulhu and the rest of his horde. . . .
Make no mistake about it, the 1995 hurricane season, rightly
hailed as one of the worst in history, is the direct product of their
resurgence. It is well known that certain of the greater sleepers in the
depths (Cthulhu, Ythogtha, Zoth-Ommog, Ghantanothoa, Othuum,
Nyhhyo, etc.) can control the world weather patters to an unknown
extent. Indeed, The Fury was Cthulhu’s reaction to the near-
destruction of his “secret seed,” Cthylla! And you remember what
happened then, right? Arkham was nearly destroyed! The fierce
storms lasted for three days, surprising the meteorologists at the
university, who had no indication of the attack. It took Miskatonic
several years to rebuild its facilities and move from its temporary
home in Rutland, Vermont. Things are coming to a head, it now
seems. This year’s storm season is a dark indication of their
potential. It’s almost like they are testing their strength, stretching
their psychic limbs after their long sleep of strange aeons. . . .
It doesn’t help that there are groups out there aiding the GOO
in their departure from somnambulance. Our agents have been
keeping a closer eye on them than usual. The most dangerous (i.e.,
influential/subtle) sects seem to be the Brothers of the Yellow Sign,
the Brethren of the New Light, the Brotherhood of the Bloody
Tongue, the Chorazos Cult, Masters of the Silver Twilight, the
Bavarian Illuminati and the Starry Wisdom Sect. (An inordinate
amount of male posturing, I notice. Brotherhoods, fraternities.
Testosterone overdose? But I’m quite sure that you know all about
that! You mentioned the renewed fervor of the Yig Cultus in your
area last time I phoned. (Was it three months ago already?) Snakes
And then there are the organizations united against the threat,
who oppose the GOO. I’m uncertain if they are good for the overall
cause. Like I said earlier, we cannot erase our archetypes. The
Wilmarth Foundation is the most obvious. The Society of Paighon,
Delta Green, Project Arkham, us, and several others. Some branches
of the U. S. Government have gotten in on the act; for instance, a
lengthy list of books is currently in circulation, for the purpose of
rendering specific fiction, nonfiction and occult titles unobtainable to
the general public while the pro-GOO groups fight for the
Constitutional rights of the availability of the material. Sounds weird,
pro-GOO groups lobbying for the First Amendment. . . .
I think it’s fair to say that most of the primary anti-GOO
organizations are fanatic and, in some cases, even fascist in nature.
As you know, we (meaning the CCCC) tend to be more diverse in our
opposition. We are pragmatists: take a problem examine it, look for
options other than total annihilation as a solution. There has to be
another way to survive as a species.
The current state of affairs is sticky. The GOO cannot be
completely eradicated; they are simply too ingrained in our collective
psyche: remove the GOO and we become less than we are now. Or
simple cease to exist. The situation is particularly delicate because we
can’t add more of their influence without shifting the human
conscious level; if so, we will be changed in some incalculable manner
forever. And I can’t say that would necessarily be a good thing. Yet, I
want to win the struggle. We must find the balance, the best way to
deal with the situation and still retain our humanity. We need our
own minds–
In fact, the very nature of the research and covert operations
that these groups embark upon–along with there very awareness of
the GOO–seems to be a major factor in The Great Awakening. In a
way, we’re responsible for the new crisis. Just think, if we hadn’t
been engaged in our research and had left them alone, the GOO might
have slumbered for centuries longer. Still, we need our own minds–
and I will not back down from the opportunity for us to finally be free
as a species. The oppressive control structure of the world has been
unconsciously influenced by the mind parasites from the very
beginning of human civilizastion; bring that structure down–or alter
it in conformity with our will–and we’ll be on our own!
(Ironic, isn’t it, that the CCCC got its start by former Professor
Alonzo Waite back in the Sixties, in the heyday of LSD research?
Even more ironic that Dr. Francis Morgan developed the anti-
hallucinogens that effectively disbanded the original group in 1966,
the same year that acid guru Timothy Leary founded the League for
Spiritual Discovery. And now, here we are after all these years, still
strong, a watch group for paranormal/fringe activity. We observe and
act, based on intuition–and we got our start as a psychoactive and
psychedelic drug tests group! Will wonders never cease. Levias, you
have assisted us quite a few times before; I still don’t know why you
continue to humbly refuse my standing invitation for your
membership. The CCCC could use a good operative like yourself.)
Luckily, we also seem to have the aid of the various branches of
the Discordian Society, those followers of Eris, the Goddess of
Confusion. I say seem because you never can tell with those
Discordians. They’re always so–well, confusing! They claim to like
the CCCC, saying that we are essentially Discordian in nature.
Whatever. As a rule the Discordians have no rules. They hardly ever
take anything seriously. In fact, one of the things in their “bible,” the
Principia Discordia, called the “The Golden Secret: Nonsense as
Salvation” states that “The human race will begin solving its problems
on the day that it ceases taking itself so seriously.” A new-Zen
Buddhist koan, I believe. So, that said, who can tell what a bunch of
magical and political anarchists will eventually wind up aligning
with? For all we know, everything could be just a big elaborate joke
to them.
And if the Discordians prove to be inimical to the GOO, can we
be certain that they will remain so for long? After all, The Great
Awakening will bring their favorite element into universal
prominence: Chaos.
All that aside, the CCCC will certainly have its hands full with
this new looming threat. I know this is the wrong attitude – this is
between you and me; don’t breathe a world of this to the others! – but
I don’t think we’ll survive the next collective onslaught. Or if
humanity does survive, it will somehow be altered. . . .
I fear that our time as the rightful or natural “masters” (no,
make that stewards) of this planet is coming, and soon. . . .
I know this is all old hat to you, my friend, but it’s been on my
mind lately. I’ve been talking with Professor Rideway of Miskatonic’s
Anthropology Dept. and she agrees with the basic concept of Aeons
that you proposed last time we spoke. So does her husband and
Professor Carroll, both from the Psychology Dept. However, all three
professors (particularly Dr. Carroll) added to the general outline.
Here is the revised theory, in brief:
We are now fairly certain that the first single-celled organisms
were somehow devised by a primal vat of RNA sludge, alluded to in
the old books housed in the infamous Pabodie Library as Ubbo-
Sathla, the “Father and Mother” of all life: the Supreme Archetype of
all life on this planet. This was 3.9 billion years ago, in the Azoic Era.
Earth back then had a hydrogen sulfide atmosphere. Then the
atmosphere changed, as stated in Dr. James Lovelock’s Gaia
Hypothesis. 85% of life died; the organisms that survived eventually
evolved into DNA molecules and were cultivated by the Crinoids–also
referred to as “Elder Things” or simple “Old Ones”–of what now is
Antarctica, 2.5 billion years ago. Those simple life forms fed off the
complex amino acids in the steaming oceans and further evolved.
Somehow I doubt that the Crinoids meant this intentionally. I mean,
what are their other “cellular cultivations,” the shoggoths, other than
a servant class of corrosive protoplasm-like jelly? A relatively simple
life form, as Dr. Morgan has pointed out years ago, before he split
from Miskatonic. Somehow, the process got out of the Crinoid’s
hands, as it were, and life evolved through natural selection into what
it is presently. And so, not only did they somehow create the first
domestic organisms, but they also devised “The Web of Life.”
Now on to humans. The first hominids were aware of the
slumbering Old Ones around–and within–them. The dormant alien
presences, dead but dreaming, disturbed their newfound state of
consciousness. Of course, the reptile brain–that part of the brain we
inherited from the reptiles–supplied them and all other animals with
the survival impulse, so they could effectively ignore the brunt of the
GOO dream-sendings. At the same time, the early humans were
cognizant of their own minds, as well as the constant danger posed by
the hostile environment. The budding collective unconscious was
even then charged with innate psychic energy. These forces, which
must have seemed supernatural to these aboriginal men and women,
sparked and guided the first shamans.
While early humans struggled to survive, they related to the
encompassing forces of nature in terms they could understand.
Simply put, various aspects of nature became revered as deities.
Humans communicated with nature on their own terms, speaking
through certain members of their tribe or community who were
chosen to be shamans, the healers of the group. The healer was the
mediator between the people and the environment. The shaman
usually isolated himself–most early shamans were male, as you
know–from their respective groups to develop their abilities.
Whether they consciously realized it or not (I’m sure they lacked the
understanding) they were attuning themselves to the psychic field of
the planet, what we would now call The Web of Life, or Gaia. The
same field influenced others who were susceptible to its wavelength
and they became shamans as well. Anyone who felt the “urge” to
become a shaman did. They knew which plants and herbs could heal
and which could kill; they knew the minds of animals and all life. All
things living and dead are connected and have their source in nature.
Even the rocks, sky, soil and water are parts of The Web.
This is the Age of Shamanism, the first Aeon.
The Pagan Aeon is next. Agriculture was the main focus of this
new age. Large communities formed stable cities. Rather than roam
about continually, the community now had a “home.” Systems of
trade developed. People, living in civilization, let down their guard to
the unseen influences around and within the earth and from the skies.
They began to think about superfluous things more and moved
further away from nature, lost their harmony with it, as it were. The
knowledge of the psychic forces became diluted, incoherent. To
directly quote Dr. Carroll: “Gods, spirits, and superstition uneasily
filled the gaps created by loss of natural knowledge and humanity’s
expanding awareness of its own mind.” This inevitably set human
mental evolution back by several thousand years. Instead of looking
inward for “divinity” (or strength or inspiration), most people from
this Age to now tend to look outward.
Imagine: what could the human race accomplish if we
collectively developed our minds to the full potential? Why, we could
then easily rid outselves of the threat of the GOO forever! If we could
collectively learn to induce peak experiences at will–more about that
Modern paganism, Wicca in particular, has its heart in the right
place, I think (meaning its earth sensitivities), but not its mind.
Come on! Gods and Goddesses! That stuff became obsolete
hundreds of years ago! Even the GOO themselves are not really gods
or demons; they are evolutionary archetypes. All in all, however,
paganism is a relatively harmless, self-delusional belief system.
On the other hand, the deities represented different thought
patterns and facets of the environment and the psyche. But why not
recognize the sources of the gods, rather than deifying their
metaphors? I mean, we are our own gods.
The third age–and worst, as far as I’m concerned!–is the
Monotheistic Aeon. It reared its ugly head inside the pagan cultures
and finally swept them aside. Dr. Carroll stated, “The experiment was
begun once in Egypt but failed. It really came into its own with
Judaism and Islam, which were offshoots of this, in the East,
Buddhism was the form it took.”
Basically, in place of traditional polytheism was a belief in only
one supreme deity–or “God” as we’ve been programmed to render the
word–who is really a reflection, singular and idealized, of its
believers. That is why all of these recent unfounded reports of
“angels” aiding people in distress always–without exception!–appear
as the most perfect person that those who witness them can imagine–
we have our own ideas of perfection and see what we want. “God” is
therefore a reflection of anyone who believes in it, which explains the
varying ideas within the religious community. Of course, ignorance
and abuse of power and privilege is rampant in Christianity; but the
“true believers” would never admit any of this.
This “true” religion is fairly new to the overall historical picture,
yet is was the first and “real” religion, its followers would like us to
believe! Despite its illogical factors, the basic idealogy of Christianity
is good, then tenets admirable. Let’s face it, the concept of not killing,
stealing, etc., are worthy of following–but do you need religion to tell
you these things? I think not. If a person doesn’t already know these
things . . . well, then something is wrong with that person! Synaptic
damage, maybe. (Sorry, Levias, for the strongly opinionated views in
this makeshift history. I was tremendously impressed with the
seminars of humanism given by Dr. C.H. Wilson here at Miskatonic a
few years back. Plus I’m an independent, liberal-minded woman!)
(“What? Is man merely a mistake of God’s? Or God merely a
mistake of man’s?–Nietzsche, The Twilight of the Idols.)
The present Aeon is Atheistic. Nietzsche did his part to help to
liberate humanity by spreading the “Death of God” philosophy. The
deity concept inevitably breeds sterility in the individual; when one
relies on external forces that do not exist for integral actions, one
loses confidence in the self, the individual. Industrialism and
scientific progress have ushered in this new age. Aside from being an
outright rejection of monotheism, atheism advocates the progress of
science (while monotheism steadfastly opposes science–“Ignorance is
bliss”–the monotheists would rather live in their shallow worlds of
fantasy and self-delusion rather than experience the enlightenment of
knowledge–Thus spoke Zarathustra!).
By the way, Nietzsche–who symbolically died in 1900–said that
this century would be confronted with chaos and the Abyss. He was
right. Now all the major branches of philosophy agree with Nietzsche
on many points, most notably his verdict that there is no “true
reality.” Everything is relative and subjective to the observer; we all
know that the Official Consensus Reality of the popular media and the
government is a sham. The Establishment has the power to drown
out the signals it does not want to receive. This is the same
Establishment that confiscated the published work and private
notebooks of Dr. Wilhelm Reich and threw them into an incinerator.
Reich was sentenced to a lengthy (eight year) term in prison, where
he died after serving two years–just for challenging the conventional
views of science with his radical orgone energy concepts.
The deeper you look into the Abyss, the deeper the Abyss looks
into you.
Notice, too, that the Aeons shorten as time passes. The
Atheistic Aeon began several hundred years ago, the Monotheistic
Aeon two to three thousand years back, while the Pagen Aeon began
with the dawn of civilization and the Shamanistic Aeon had its
genesis with the birth of humanity.
Now the fifth Aeon is on the horizon. Is that good or bad, or are
those terms too abstract to define the new age to come?
As humans become more psychically sensitive, so do the Great
Old Ones become cognizant of our increased potential to discover and
overthrow them en masse. But I fear that our very psychic awareness,
en masse, may be responsible for their eventual release! That has
been another theory of mind for some time now. And now–now that
the stars are becoming “right,” the constellations and galaxies nearing
their predetermined positions, juxtaposed with out budding
awareness of the hitherto untapped power within the psyche, they
could wipe us out before we can truly hope to understand them!
We have a hard struggle ahead of us. The Aeon of Cthulhu is
nearly here.
It is really coincidental to note that Aleister Crowley–the “Great
Beast” himself!–received or invented the contents of The Book of the
Law (Liber Al vel Legis) in Cairo, 1904. He claimed that he was
guided by the spirit from the Abyss named Aiwass. (Nietzsche’s
Abyss?) If the Abyss is taken to mean the collective human psyche,
then Aiwass is an unconscious aspect of Crowley’s own mind–like the
Christian angels.) Crowley believed that the new era or aeon had
dawned at that moment of revelation and he named it the Aeon of
Horus. This new era, he believed, like its two predecessors–the Aeon
of Osiris and the Aeon of Isis–will last for roughly 2000 years. What
we are experiencing now are the death-throes of the old and the birth-
pangs of the new. Crowley also predicted the death of monotheism:
“Behold! the rituals of the old time are black. Let the evil ones be cast
away; let the good ones be purged by the prophet! Then shall this
Knowledge go alright” (AL. II, 5). Amusing theory, but I don’t buy
into it.
Even more interesting is the fact that 59% of all Americans
believe that the world will end; 12% feel that this will happen within
the next few years. An overwhelming 60% believe that the Bible
should be taken seriously on all levels. A nation of sheep, indeed.
The final judgment day will come, and soon, most people think. “And
let God pass judgment on all the living and dead.” Even Edgar Cayce,
dreamscryer inferior, predicted that southern California would sink
into the Pacific Ocean in 1997.
Doomsday. Armageddon. The apocalypse. Yes, it is close . . . in
a sense. The new millennium, that is. But then, apocalyptic turmoil
surrounded the dawning of the year 1000. One famous legend has it
that at the stroke of midnight, January 1, 1000, the entire country of
Iceland converted to Christianity, due to apocalyptic anxiety–as if
religion could save them. A false sense of security is all it could
provide. So the year 2000 is supposed to be cataclysmic for Mother
Earth and Her ungrateful children. We’ll see. Personally, I’m more
concerned with what humans will do to the planet and each other
more than I am with natural disasters.
On the other hand, we might have a SLIM chance to overcome
and whelm the GOO. Have you ever heard of morphogenics? In case
you haven’t, I’ll fill you in. Dr. C.M. Wilson developed the basic
hypothesis of this new branch of science from Abraham Maslow–yes,
the psychologist–and Rupert Sheldrake, a biologist.
All healthy people are subject to what Maslow called the “peak
experience.” This is a moment of bubbling happiness, complete
euphoria. For most people, peak experiences are few and far
between, occurring only at random–and everyone experiences this
phenomenon differently. But Dr. Wilson postulates that it can be
induced at will. According to him, “There are a great many simple
techniques for inducing the peak experience and the most basic
method is always the same: to deliberately generate “inner tension,”
followed immediately by relaxation.”
Sheldrake wrote in his controversial book A New Science of Life
that evolution might be slightly different than conventional biologists
accept–instead of occurring through changes in the genes, Sheldrake
states that there is a simpler and much quicker method, which he
calls “morphic resonance.”
For instance, there was one substance that was extremely
difficult to crystallize in the laboratory. However, when one
laboratory had succeeded in crystallizing the substance, the same
thing occurred around the world. The possibility of scientists
unknowingly carrying minute fragments in their clothes to the other
labs was dismissed early on in the investigation. The crystals were
“learning” from each other! How? Morphic resonance. The scientific
explanation is deeply involved with physics, having to do with the
alteration of electrons . . . but I’m a philosopher, not a physicist.
This also seems to work on animals–including humans. One
monkey on an isolated island near Japan discovered an easier and
more efficient way to eat sweet potatoes. Soon afterward, monkeys
on the mainland learned the trick–and they had no contact with the
primates on the island. The evidence of morphic resonance in the
crystals rules out the possibility of telepathy.
(Does it really, though? We discovered some crystals off the
coast of Ponape that demonstrate remarkable abilities. There were
also fragments of a green stone from the Deep One city Tlag’ucc, off
the coast of Florida–yes, in the Bermuda Triangle! The crystals and
beryl fragments do have their own “power-vibes” and can focus
psychic energy; maybe they can “communicate” with one
another. . . .)
Dr. Wilson is of the opinion that if a sizable group of individuals
could learn to have peak experiences at will, then the euphoria should
rapidly spread naturally to increasing numbers of people. And maybe
in a hundred years, perhaps less, all people will be born with the
ability to automatically enter the peak state. Life itself could be a
peak experience. Being, Existence . . . The ultimate fulfillment of the
HEAD Revolution (you know, the Hedonistic Engineering and
Development Project, to reprogram the neural circuits, to deprogram
the individual from the oppressive conditioning of society). Dr.
Wilson is currently exploring this tantalizing possibility. So there is
hope, after all, Levias. I just have to keep reminding myself.
We have the ability to either enrich our world or utterly destroy
We now have the keys to the codes that govern everything in
our universe: quantum, genetic and synaptic codes. Through the
understanding of these codes we are not only the “masters” of our
own evolution but also of the evolution of all matter, life and thought.
Like the laws of physics (which are unpredictable) are the laws of
evolution; thus we cannot tell for certain what is in our future. We
are now teetering in that fine balance; too much emphasis on either
side, from outselves or the GOO (some of whom, despite their
extrinsic origins, seem to be archetypal aspects of ourselves and the
universe) and we will fall–one way or the other.
Thank you, Levias, for indulging my sudden burst of epistolary
inspiration. I thought I’d warn you of the current situation and to
show you the history of the Aeons Dr. Carroll, the Ridgeways and I
came up with. I’ll frankly admit that the Aeon theory as presented
needs some polishing–and further, it is purely speculator, based on
the formidable occult collection in our renown Pabodie Library and
the quantum science of today–but it’ll hopefully give you something
to think about. To give credit where it’s du, I was also inspired to
write because of Dr. William Seward; I’ve enclosed an excerpt of a
discussion on his indicators of a new aeon. I’d like to hear your
reaction to the outline. And your help with the current potential
crisis would really appreciated. IF you have any ideas about how to
deal with the dawning new age, I’d love to hear them. Thank you
Let thine own Will by the Law of Laws!
I’ll be in touch again soon.


Melissa Brand,
Cosmic Coincidence Control Center
Board of Directors


compiled by Melissa Brand

Part Two: The Great Awakening

Addendum: Sorry, Levias, I almost forgot to include these excerpts
from our files, compiled by our telepaths and dreamscryers in the
Quantum Physics Department over the past year. And these are only
a few examples of literally thousands that we have! This is my
evidence of The Great Awakening (perhaps it wouldn’t stand up in
court, but it’s here nonetheless).
By the way, we start the number sequence over at the beginning
of each new year; for 1995, we have, currently, 1286 items.

Incident: #146 (January 21, 1995)

Madam Freya (mail order gypsy clothes, gaudy jewelry, all fake)
worriedly studied the Tarot arrangement before her. For the third
time in a row, the reading was the same, desite her having fixed the
deck to read otherwise. Her middle-aged client (fat powdered face,
curled platinum hair, diamond earrings, elegant perfume, elaborately
obvious make-up–too much cosmetic detail) stared across the table at
her. “Is anything wrong?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice.
Madam Frey glanced up and, breaking a fortune-telling tradition,
admitted, “The future bodes no good. For anyone, it looks like–
but . . .” She stopped and reached under the table, withdrawing a dog
eared book on Tarot interpretation (The Devine Path to Wisdom and
the Sacred Tarot Made Easy in Ten Easy Lessons). After a quick
consultation, she added: “But the – change? – will be subtle, not
physical at first, then it will burst into prominence . . . Frankly, I
don’t know what it means,” Freya finished, puzzled. Fear gnawed
away at her nerves.

(Agent Wayne)

Incident: #291 (February 17, 1995)

Brian Parker, a junior at Royceton University–a liberal arts
institution in Braving, Minnesota–frantically slapped somber hued
colors on five canvasses at once, working with a speed and skill that
he had never before exhibited, moving like one possessed. He had to
paint the scenes he was working on, he was compelled by another
will, it seemed. Prior to that moment, each of his paintings had taken
at least a week to compose and were of a different subject matter
altogether. These new works were phantasmagoric vistas of aquatic
nightmare: weed-shrouded ocean depths, crawling blots of ooze,
tumbled masonry and less certain things. He couldn’t get the images
right, he complained to a friend, who wondered where Parker’s new
found inspiration had come from. A movie or TV show, maybe?
Parker said that the scenes come to him in horrorific nightmares,
increasing with intensity each night. His last canvas of photographic
quality, entitled “The Deep Lord Awakens,” depicted a bloated
tentacle-headed creature peering from the confines of an oddly-
angled doorway. The stones around the doorway were adorned with
representations of the sun, the stars, the moon. The entire scene was
bathed in a lambent green glow, for all the world like the movement
of certain auroras. Worst of all were the glaring eyes, neon yellow.
The painting disturbed Brian’s friends, prompting him to hide it. The
dreams were getting worse, working up to a climax that he didn’t
want to witness building . . .
The sudden inspiration ended when he slit his wrists in a fit of
depression. The final painting has yet to be found.
(Agent Harms)

Item: # 301 (February 25, 1995)

Summary. Reports of human rights abuses flow from Haiti in a
steady stream. An investigation by the American Association for the
Advancement of Science (AAAS) is in the planning stages. The unrest
and violence of late last year has not been abated; the people of Haiti
are now generally more secretive of their subversion. Whispered,
unsubstantiated stories circulate about a dark god hidden deep in the
jungles (the exact location is unknown at this point) named Shuy-
Nihl. Tension is mounting; there are rumors of excessive military
force used to control the people.
(“Nations in Turmoil,” by Auden Tilly, unpublished
to date.)

Incident: #354 (March 14, 1995)

Sarah Laughlin, a high priced call girl with cascading blonde
hair, lambent blue eyes, and a model figure, was hard at work. As she
knelt before her client, “Frenching” him, her mind wondered. This
was her first blowjob in more than a month; in fact, it was her first
day back on the job, as it were. Most johns prefer a good, quick lay,
but not this one. He had insisted she go down on him. Okay, so she
went down. She gave little thought to the man’s groans of pleasure–
the act didn’t do anything for her, the sexual thrill was (not
surprisingly) absent, because she had no emotional ties to him. It
actually repulsed her more than anything.
She had started as usual, after the faceless client had seated
himself, running her fingertips under his shirt, trailing them over his
chest, rubbing his nipples and down to hi none too trim stomach. She
felt his hands on her shoulders, encouraging her, guiding her descent.
Soon his trousers were unzipped, around his ankles. She carefully
licked his swollen penis along the sides, feigning interest. Continuing
for several minutes, prolonging the man’s excitement, she hoped that
he would come and that would be the end of it. But no, the bastard
didn’t; he appeared to merely become more rigid. Seeing that it
would take extra effort, she deftly worked the saliva-lubricated organ,
stroking it up and down with one hand while continuing to fondle the
engorged glans with her tongue.
“Just like licking an ice cream cone,” her older sister had told
her an eternity ago, in her formative teen years. She had practiced on
all her male friends until she had developed a formidable talent. In
high school she was called Sarah Suck or, by the more intelligent
students, Sarah Fellatio. Fellation wasn’t her only talent; she had
many more. The act of pleasing men–and in some cases, women–
kept her mind off the nightmares that had plagued her weekly since
the onset of puberty. The dreams–
–she twitched at the brief recollection of the dreams, which
involuntarily brought to mind the newer, more terrible nightmares,
the ones that sleeping pills and illegal drugs couldn’t prevent. They
were far more defined now, had been for over a month–but no, she
couldn’t (wouldn’t) recall them, not now, not while working. That
dream reality shouldn’t intrude on her work reality; she had decided
that long ago. She felt like several different people, all separate yet
united. She refused to dredge the dreams into the upper levels of
memory, would keep them buried. . . .
The man writhed around the piston-like motion of here mouth,
his flesh quivering with building climax. Nerves twitched
spasmodically; his left leg lurched against her shoulder. All of which
indicated to Sarah that he was almost read to blow–finally! Bobbing
her head faster, sucking harder, up and down, up and down, meeting
the reflex action of his hips–jerking, twitching–eager to complete the
act. She was considering whether to spit or swallow when it
happened. The rigid bulb-shaped glans abruptly exploded, filling her
mouth with a salty gush of genetic material.
Salty . . . gush . . . fluid . . . Suddenly she remembered the
suppressed memory –
The sea–the salty water–in her mouth–the webbed hands,
grasping–clutching–cold, cold hands, rubbery–God so cold–froglike
forms–gills–swimming fast, the sea numbs her body, pulling her with
them in the water–the salty sea–numb–green fog bellows from an
island, freshly risen–mud, black ooze from the ocean bottom–
–Turning to gaze at her with bulging eyes, speaking to each
other with croaks, guttural. The cold things–look, now look, you
–Towering, it towers, a shambling–thing–greasy, monstrous
beyond belief, long facial tentacles lashing wildly. Waiting at the
water’s edge. Wading before a titantic jumble of black weed-choked
masonry, still partially submerged. Underwater city? What, Atlantis?
Flowing rivers of dark mud–ooze–branch from the upper peak of the
isle. Seeing her, the thing’s red eyes flare brighter. It raises its
bulbous head, dead grey flesh rippling, serpentine beard wavering,
filling her sould with loathing–
The sea–the salty water–in her mouth–
–A scream of white hot agony pierced the hotel room. The man
knocked Sarah across the room and doubled over; she let the severed
lump of sinewy flesh drop from her mouth, retching gouts of blood,
horrified as the tentacle-faced thing seeped toward her. . . .
(Agent Coletta)

Item: #398 (March 25, 1995)

UFO sightings have increased dramatically since the new year.
Accordingly, so have reports of alien abduction and experiments. The
CCCC with the assistance of Omni Magazine and MUFON (Mutual
UFO Network), investigated a select group of these alleged
“abductees.” Not surprisingly, we found that their experiences –
down to the minutest detail, such as sensory perception, including
visual and auditory “evidence”–can be synthetically reproduced in the
lab. The exact procedure is classified, but it involves electro-
stimulation of the neural passageways of the sleeping subjects, while
they dream about their Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Dr.
Ismael is of the opinion that the “abductees” are actually reliving the
“birth experience”–when an infant is brought into the world,
surrounded by unfocussed figures and intense light, prodded by
needles, etc. The memories of the hospital and masked staff are
distorted and confused with the popular UFO images from the
collective unconscious.
Dr. Moore has another theory. While in the REM state, certain
people are susceptible to the dream-sendings of the GOO and actually
undergo Out-of-Body Experiences, visiting sites of pivotal interest to
the GOO (i.e., their temples, tombs, ect.) and receive subliminal
instruction by them. If this is so, all life on this planet is capable of
serving the GOO at one point or another. And many animals–mostly
human–do, unknowingly.
The OBE can be performed under lab conditions, triggered at
will by a specific branch of The Quantum Psychics Department: the
dreamscryers. This new technology is a major step in our extensive
GOO studies. (In all modesty, this possibility has been under
development for the past two decades, with remarkable results.)
(Skulduggery News International,
March 95)

Incident: #477 (March 28, 1995)

Daniel Jackson had dreamed of a black iridescent mass of living
filth, a bubbling pool rippling with an obscene mockery of life.
Underwater, the blob rested on a fallen green slab. The ruins of a city
surrounded him, hazy, writhing with seaweed and detritus. This was
early in his teen years, at the onset of puberty, when his hormonal
system was extra-sensitive to unconscious stimuli. The experience
deeply scarred him, although he had dreamed of it on that one
Tonight–twenty years later–the dream returned, along with it
the old fears, the phobia of mud and slime, dislike of dark colors, the
reasons for which he had spent years trying to forget. Sensations
were enhanced; he gazed vaguely into the inky depths, felt the
crushing pressure, the searing cold, the saline taste of the water–
The mass was the same one that he had seen years before–he
knew it was. Its bubbly oil-black form was studded with dozens of
lidless eyes, all peering at him. It had a vestigial intelligence. He was
told by it (telepathy? He wonders, knowing instinctively that this is
so) that he was drifting too close to a guarded area–again. So that’s
what it was, a guardian, a sentinel. The word “shoggoth” entered his
mind. “That’s what it calls itself, a shoggoth.”
Warning. The cold mass shrugged with motion, its dark prism
like surface heaving forward to demonstrate its abilities. It flowed
across the slab, moving like a fast slug, and hugged the jagged boulder
at the edge–and dissolved it. As it did, atomized vapor blew out of its
top, churning the water, a shrill whistle, reverberating–
–That was when Daniel woke, unhinged, the piercing note
resounding in his ears.
Cleanse. The shoggoth was a cleanser, a protector–of what?
Why? How many of the things are there? Where–
(Agent Read)

Incident: #517 (April 2, 1995)

Candace Walters is walking down a moonlit beach, two miles
from her home in San Pedro, California. She is attempting to relax;
her mind is filled with a jumble of incoherent thoughts, has been for a
while. A stroll will help her unwind. Still, despite the apparent
serenity of the scene–the softly lapping foamy waves, the gibbous
moon that bathes her in its radiance, the briny spring breeze–she
feels an unexplainable tension in the air, a taste of . . . danger?
Looking around, she determines to her satisfaction that she is
quite alone–until she hears the heavy flopping footfalls from the
vicinity of the water. Frightened, she runs the opposite direction,
when a large webbed hand wraps itself over her face, covering her
mouth, a sharp fish stench pierces her nostrils as she is pulled to the
sand. There, with her limbs pinned, she feels here legs being prized
apart, feels with shuddering horror the ponderous weight of the
rubbery body pressing down on her and a hard claw tearing the
swimming trunks off her waist and a mammoth frigid object entering
Hours later–it must have been hours, the sun is rising–she
becomes coherent. Gobs of thick, sticky fluid are smeared between
her legs, drying. She hurts, her womanhood is defiled, it aches,
throbbing with dull pain, throbbing–
Back home. Shower. Washing the marine effluvium from her
flesh and mind, still in shock. Later. Calls the San Pedro Police
–Well, miss, we’ll do what we can the butch female voice said
on the other end of the line. Yours is the ninth rape of that sort this
month. Don’t you read the papers?
–No, I don’t! screams Candace, before succumbing to the
burning frustration of the instant, collapsing to the floor in a dead
Tracing the call is no problem. The next night, released from
the care of a local physician, she walks to the beach again, toward the
water and doesn’t stop until the ocean is in her lungs and she cannot
(Agent Clawson)
Item: #609 (April 21, 1995)
Pierre Freneau, steward aboard an Air France passenger plane,
thought that he had seen it all. He had noticed in the past few
months that the passengers to Tahiti became more and more exotic
and ethnically diverse; never had he seen such a polyglot group of
people in one place before. This threatened him in a manner he could
not explain. He determined from the conversation of the English
speaking passengers that the consensual course of action once in
Tahiti would be to take part in some great religious event. “He is
coming! He is coming!” he heard jubilantly repeated by different
people. Who, Jesus? Great, a plane load of God groupies.
Strange as that was, it was nothing compared to the latest flight.
The entire plane was saturated with the mongrel horde,
overwhelming in its intensity. People of every racial extraction sat
excitedly in place, some in loose white robes tied at the waist with a
plush green ribbon. Impatience exuded from the group in a heady
Even more bewildering ti Pierre was the signature song of the
entire congregation–they must have been some bizarre cult–that was
chanted in the same nonsensical syllables, over and over, their
monotonous rhythm driving him mad with anger. However, more
than anger, Pierre felt fear. He was afraid. Terribly afraid.
(Agent Brewer)

Incident: #666 (April 30, 1995)

Dark amorphous sound cascaded from the Victorian Black
House–that infamous residence on 6114 California Street belonging
to Anton Szander LaVey. The sound flowed out of apertures and
cracks in the foundation, flittering outside like electric bats in the
warm wind.
Dogs howled maniacally for a six block radius, apparently
fearing the onslaught of notes within the mad concerto that only they
could hear.
Shift. Inside, the house shuddered from the volume, the book
shelves rattling and the windows vibrating. Pan the mind lens
through the parlor–couch, examination table with stirrups, chair
stacked with black hats–to the kitchen, where LaVey is playing his
instruments, eight keyboards at once, shuffling between them, hands
a blur. Around him, walls painted black. Diabolical murals. Boa
constrictor in a lighted box on a kitchen table.
An accomplished musician, he never strikes an undesired key,
everything is note perfect. The piece is improvised, made up on the
spot for the occasion–but he has it charted in his head (the music
comes to him seconds before he plays it). Knows what it should
sound like. Cacophony. Discordant, blaring, reverberating
Wagnerian themes, mixed in a frantic blender with machine-gun
staccato drums and flutes, all synthesized. The like of which haven’t
been heard since–well, since LaVey had indulged in a similar whim–
no, make that urge–years before, in 1985. And the result of that mad
performance then was the earthquake in Mexico City, LaVey
(Sound, rhythm and vibration can determine events, the priests
of old knew as much, sound can cause world events.)
The moon (urge) has been upon him for the past few weeks for
him to play thusly. Again, the time was right, it felt right, an
important event was due and he was to be part of it–He played the
right chords and sounds and noise to summon Tru’nembra, Outer
God, and X’aligha, discordance personified in sound, to shift the
paradigm of the event horizon–
The music writhed in tempo, neon flakes and electrical fires
lanced the hazy air, alive, it pulsed, a crescendo, sharply churning–
bass notes are deep gravities felt in the pit of the stomach, piercing
wails, frantic, synthesized, blaring, reverberating, auditory input
LaVey is liquid, black robed, flowing, one with his instruments,
sweat runs from his smooth scalp, face intense with concentration,
orgasmic rapture, he is liquid–
Half the world away, the bowels of the earth trembled with the
heavy protest of seismic activity and a submerged mountain chain
began to rise from the Pacific Ocean bed, lifting its peaks above the
boiling water. . . .
(Agent Coletta)

Item: #759 (June 1, 1995)

In Dallas, Texas, an acid-house dance hall called The Cthulhu
Club reopens after a three-month hiatus due to an unexplained
incident. In March, a punk band from Innsmouth, Massachusetts
called Ichthyic Youth performed at the venue. That night, 37
audience members died, apparently of drowning. Police were baffled
by a nonsensical jumble of words found spray painted on one wall:
attributed the graffiti to gang or cult activity. In an unprecedented
short amount of time, the management of The Cthulhu Club won
several legal battles and reopened on the first of June. The ravers
lined up for three blocks to attend the opening, which featured the
live act Psychic TV, well known in acid-house circles. An
uncorroborated rumor is that important officials investigating the
legal disputes were bribed into silence or inactivity with large gold
bricks, presumably from Innsmouth, where the proprietors of the
club are from.
(Rave News and Trips, Summer,

Item: #781 (Jun 17, 1995)

Book dealers have reported phenomenal sales of new age/occult
material this quarter, a vast increase from previous years. Sales have
doubled since just last quarter in some places (the eastern seaboard of
the United States, California, Texas, etc.). Biggest movers: all titles by
Aleister Crowley (particularly The Book of the Law, The Holy Books
of Thelema, Magick in Theory and Practice), The Complete Golden
Dawn System of Magic by Israel Regardie, the pagan classic
Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler, Peter Carroll’s Liber Null
an Psychonaut and Liber Kaos, the Simon Necronomicon and the
George Hay Necronomicon, both of which are frauds (the latter more
clever than the former), The R’lyeh Text, another hoax overseen by
Hay, Dion Fortune’s Psychic Self-Defense, and others, particularly the
assorted titles by Austin Osman Spare. Carl G. Jung, not generally
considered new age, is another important figure to the current
Popular topics generally include Psychic Abilities and
Awareness, Shamanism, Dream and Tarot Divination/Interpretation,
Candle Magick, Egyptian Magick, UFO Contact, Angels, Pyramids,
the Illuminati, Freemasonry, etc.
Other big sellers include various editions of Tarot decks, crystal
balls, magic mirrors, and plain black robes. Candles, of all colors, are
also highly sought after.
The renewed interest in the paranormal/occult is triple that of
the 1960s.
Question: What does this renewed interest in the occult signify?
Answer: Awareness. Of one kind or another.
(Pagan News and Views Quarterly,
Spring 1995)

Item: #791 (June 21, 1995, 05:17:17 P.M.)

(Transcription of a conversation with Dr. William Seward,
visiting from the Sanborne Institute of Pacific Antiquities,
Department of Undersea Archaeology, Santiago, California. In the
CCCC Board Room, Dr. Seward sat at the fore of the oblong meeting
table. The CCCC Board of Directors were present to greet the guest
of honor. Melissa Brand, Shouna Harrison, Joy Stirner, Valerie
Hicks, Christina Loyall, Debbie Falworth, Rachel Clark, Jenny Dozier,
April Pound, Janeen Acker, Lynn White, Jennifer Anderson, and
Kelly Laine.)

Dr. Steward: “I can’t thank the CCC enough for the opportunity to
speak to the students of the prestigious Miskatonic University.”

Melissa Brand: “No, our thanks to you, Dr. Seward. It is purely our
pleasure for this honor, especially since our institutions are engaged
in similar research.”

Dr. Steward: “Indeed! I had hoped for a chance to discuss our

mutual research before tomorrow’s lecture. I understand from Dr.
Dedricks back at Sanbourne that you have been investigating the
partial rise of what is commonly known as the Black Island in the
South Pacific. . . .”

Shouna Harrison: “Yes, it’s appearance wasn’t completely

unexpected. We had very indication that seismic activity was taking
place in the specific area of the Pacific-Antarctic Ridge. Lucky for us
that the Wilmarth Foundation deposited sensitive upheaval detective
equipment when they were ostensibly charting that region of Oceania.
Of course, we all know that they were really searching for R’lyeh–”

Melissa Brand: “Let’s not forget our psychics, Shouna. They

forewarned us of the Black Island’s imminent rise long before the
Foundation’s equipment detected any agitation.”

Dr. Seward: “The Sanbourne Institute has conduct quite a few

experiments in that particular area. The Black Island–or the
uppermost tip of R’lyeh–was submerged only five months ago, when
we were last there. The highest peak being a mere two hundred
fathoms below the surface. As you know, the sea there is normally
two thousand fathoms deep; in the Pacific-Antarctic Ridge, the usual
depth is three thousand fathoms. The stimulation of marine life in
the vicinity of the highest peak was more feverish than on previous
expeditions. What we have now is a monumental opportunity for
research–but we mut proceed with the utmost of caution. I
remember all too well what happened to other teams investigating the
Black Island. . . .”

Joy Stirner: “Like the Johansen party, Dr. Seward?”

Dr. Seward: “Well, yes, them. But I mean the parties that went into
the area actually looking for R’lyeh. You know, the Johansen part
discovered the island purely by mistake. No, I’m referring mainly to
the first Wilmarth Foundation expedition you mentioned, Ms.

Shouna Harrison: “Please, call me Shouna.”

Dr. Seward: “Very well, then–Shouna. That earlier expedition met

with failure, if I remember correctly. They sent down a diving bell
laden with underwater cameras and tape recorders and promptly lost
it. Sea-shoggoth, I believe.”

Melissa Brand: “Yeah, that’s right. Incidentally, at that same time,

the CCCC was investigating the Deep beyond the Isle of the Sacred
Stone Cities.”

Dr. Seward: “Ah! Ponape! Or, rather, a submarine chasm off

the coast of Ponape. I’m not familiar with that specific operation;
how did it go?”

Melissa Brand: “It’s really simple. Based on the strength of

photographs of the Ponape figurine of Zoth-Ommog–yes, Dr. Seward,
the very same object that Sanbourne once housed–we explored the
Deep. I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard of the operation,
though, we like to be secretive at times – far more so than some of our
contemporaries. Anyway, during that outing we not only found Zoth-
Ommog’s resting place, but were deterred from further probing by
hordes of his servitors–”

Dr. Seward: “The Yuggya! Vile creatures, I first thought.”

Melissa Brand: “So did we. At first. After further consideration,

however, and with the aid of Dr. Francis Morgan’s notes, we have
changed our opinion of them. They are simply another life form with
as much right to live as any of Evolution’s creatures, including the
Deep Ones.”

Dr. Seward: “Quite!”

Valerie Hicks: “So, to pick up where Melissa left off, since I was
heading that mission, we did not attempt to destroy Zoth-Ommog’s
tomb, but we did come out ahead anyway. We found some crystals
embedded in the face of the ruins, and after a strenuous struggle with
the Yuggya–in which we barely left intact–we collected samples of
them. The crystals have amazing properties that kept out scientists
busy for a decade.
“We’ve also searched for Y’thogtha’s southern R’lyehan
province of Yhe, but were not successful. The third of Cthulhu’s
“Sons,” Ghantanothoa, is also well obscured from our sensors at the
moment. I can say that Churchward’s Muvian book and notes are, for
the most part, unreliable . . . rubbish, really!”

Dr. Seward: “Churchward was one of my childhood idols, so to

speak. But yes, I see where you’re coming from. Sanbourne has done
its share of research concerning his material and I am forced to agree
with you.
“Back to the Black Island and its southern province Yhe, which
is also on the rise. I feel that some preemptive action is required. The
Black Island has surfaced at least half a dozen times in this century
alone–probably more than it has risen in the past thousand years.
That alone is significant. All evidence of seismic and volcanic stress
in the region is fairly recent in origin. For instance, the Johansen
Narrative states that he and his arty stumbled across R’lyeh in 1927.
In 1947, Operation Ponape, led by Professor Shrewbury, located the
Black Island and attempted to eradicate it–along with Cthulhu–with
an atom bomb. Some of the island was vaporized, but not much. In
fact, no real damage could later be detected; that tells the strength of
the black stone of the city. Cthulhu had awakened partially from his
aeon-long slumber and was on the surface of his temple at the
moment of impact–naturally, a mere weapon cannot destroy him.
His body can reconstitute itself, even after vaporization.
“Then, during the late 1960’s, the Black Island had surfaced
once more, the result being that the dreams of Cthulhu and his kind
had a profound effect on humanity. And now, again. Each incident
has had common elements: sudden outbreaks of cult activity,
disturbances in mental institutions, high concentrations of illegal
drug use–no offense meant! I know the CCCC’s origins! Let’s see,
freakish weather patterns; more sunspot activity than usual, resulting
in radio and television interference the world over. Random
murders, complete with brutal mutilations, are fairly routine.
Formerly dormant volcanoes have suddenly become active;
seismologists generally report major shifts in the tectonic plates.
Even increased UFO sightings are commonly reported during these
times. Need I point ou that the alleged Roswell UFO downing
occurred in 1947?
“The recent hurricane season is a strong indication of their
control over weather. Not to mention that the suicide rate has
increased dramatically. Cattle mutilations are also on the upward
spiral, seemingly replacing “cow tipping” in rural areas as a pastime.
The FBI is now involved in a crackdown of all known so-called
‘apocalypse cults,’ those hate-monger groups that preach the ‘end-
time message.’ The fascist right-wing militias had been thoroughly
infiltrated, long before the Oklahoma City bombing of April 19, 1995.
The Anti-Government sentimentalities of these groups pose a more
immediate threat than The Great Awakening, because if they have
their way, humanity will revert to the barbaric mannerisms of the
ultra-right Christian factions like Ralph Reed’s Christian Coalition.
Nothing could be more dangerous.
“We must unit to prevent or at least hinder this coming
apocalypse. . . .”
(Excerpt by Christina Loyall, CCCC

Item: #803 (July 7, 1995)

The Native American legends of “the end-of-the-world” are
considerably different than the Western “fire and brimstone” beliefs.
For example, in the Wichita/Caddo traditions, women will begin to
give birth to prodigious amounts of young, litters, really. They will
bear half a dozen at a time. Plants will subtly change, their structure
altering in some unknown way, becoming more powdery. Every
Wichita house is located under the star Vega. In the Navajo folklore,
one celestial star, the origin of the tribe, will choose a spokesperson to
represent his or her own people. (This brings to mind recent reports
of the so-called Old Ones, that Aztec/Amerind-like race that sleeps
below the surface of North America in Kuin-Yian (or K’n-yan), who
came here with Tulu from another star–in their natural state, they
were gaseous, bodiless entities; when they relocated to Earth, they
took over the bodies of indigenous lifeforms, the Asiatic-Amerind
In 1994, on August 20, near Janesville, Wisconsin, a white
female buffalo was born. The buffalo, whose name is Miracle, is
believed by the Plains Indians to be a manifestation of the divine. She
symbolizes the return of the White Buffalo Calf Woman; at least
35,000 people, from all corners of the globe, make the pilgrimage to
see Miracle in person, weeping with joy as they adorn her fence with
offerings of sage, tobacco and dream catchers. Her birth was
predicted by Chief Crazy Horse in the 1890s. A great event has
happened, but what does it mean?
In the Cherokee tradition, sighting of the white feral deer
signifies change. This small deer is also a portent of change for
several tribes.
Change. The end-if-time-as-we-know-it. Transition. Need the
change be violent, turbulent? No.
Things are winding to an end, that is certain. Anyone with a
modicum of psychic ability can sense that. Anyone who can read the
signs of the present can guess the course of the future. But the
transition doesn’t mean absolute destruction. It just means
transformation. A shift in the balance of power: from Anglo back to
the dark-skinned peoples. The CCCC Department of Cultures
Formerly Known as Savages predicts this course in conjunction with
the Quantum Psychics. No wonder the Anglo people have such an
instilled fear of the “apocalypse.” They should be afraid.
The Dawn of the New Aeon is upon us.
(Dr. Snipe Prendegast)

(The End)

First published: Cthulhu Cultus # 4, 1996.