When Matthias Grant finished reading the Book Of Menes, the collection of pages for
which he had searched seventeen years, he immediately fell dead, a look of pure horror
and dreadful realisation fixed upon his face. And when Inspector Stromp, the unfortunate
police office who found Matthias Grant, also read the pages, still clutched in the
corpse’s stiff fingers, it was with meticulous care that he closed the book and sealed
it up within a wooden crate before throwing himself from the cliffs of -
The book, still within its wooden crate sat on Ignatius Maloy’s desk. Many of the volumes on his book shelves made reference to the Book Of Menes. A fabled treasure, old beyond imagining, its legend surfacing only periodically, known to those who guard the ancient knowledge of the Old Ones. Physically, only a book of seventeen pages – but pages of a grey slate, bound with two iron rings between black slate covers. The only writing being scratches onto the slate itself, made in some ancient script. The cover of the book had etched upon it the face of a goat – the extreme points of its features; horns, ears and bearded chin, aligning in correspondence with the pentacle within which it was etched. About the pentacle a double circle with unknown cryptographic symbols within.
It was, perhaps, this ancient design which later gave identity to the newer religion of witchcraft and devil worship, but its original concept came from a people and a time far greater removed.
As a symbol, however, the book held a greater power for it stood as testament to the ease with which the Old Ones could rise and strike into the very world and hearts of this Earth’s population. Yet, reined against this primeval force, was the balance of Mankind’s belief, not in the forgotten Old Ones, but in their new God and his ability to save them from their Evil and deliver them to the promise of eternal bliss in His presence. Mankind could not comprehend the existence of Earth’s prior inhabitants – his mind could not contain the awesome knowledge of their presence and so they were deliberately forgotten. And those who discovered, whether by accident or design, the Old One’s presence within the Earth were saved from utter destruction by their fragile Human mind’s only recourse – total and complete schism from reality – a nightmarish journey into insanity with only half remembered visions of horror and, perhaps, a new understanding of the true order of things, as company in the darkness.
The book held a strange fascination for Ignatius Maloy.
And so it was, like the unfortunate Grant and Stromp before him, that he, even knowing what the book was, and knowing all the exhortations against opening it, did just that and opened the heavy slate covers.
But, unlike the previous two unlucky souls, he, at least, knew of the book’s reputation and something of its power. And, he hoped, enough to protect himself from its fabled influence.
And yet he stared, uncomprehending and utterly bewildered, at the page before him.
The swarm grew exponentially from the one elemental entity, multiplying at an impossible rate until it choked the sky and filled the sight with its writhing, nebulous self. Like smoke blown on the wind, it moved – seeking out its mate that the next generation of its hideous evolution may live. Its shadow moved over the land as it hungered, blighting and destroying all it fell on in its passing.
Ignatius Maloy turned the page and continued reading.
They sleep.
Beneath the Earth.
Under the very floor of the world’s oceans, in their vast cyclopean tombs, the Old Ones wait for their world, whose time has since passed and will one day return again, to move ever closer to their awakening.
And as the planet’s dominant species crawls about above its surface and learns to overcome the rules of physics with its flying machines and explores ever deeper with it digging and chiselling machines, the sleepers are disturbed by Mankind’s rude interruptions to their slumber of aeons.
And they dream.
It was a nameless terror that woke Ignatius Maloy from his already, and increasingly, fractured sleep. For the past few nights, since receiving the box containing the pages of the Book Of Menes, he had felt uncomfortable leaving them alone within his library while he slept upstairs. He felt, also, unable to close the book, some deeper impulse within him driving him to continue reading the carved text, and so it was a compromise was formed in his mind – he would read one page, leaving the book open until he turned to the next, and would snatch whatever troubled sleep he could in the couch beneath his window.
And thus it was he would attempt sleep – though no sweet oblivion was to be found
in Morpheus’ arms, but rather the nerve-
This, then, was the existence of Professor Ignatius Maloy, since he had first dared to peer within the slate pages of the artefact he now possessed – and which had, infact, possessed him just as surely – forcing his tortured continuance of its reading.
From the stars, from the deep, black endless night of the paths of the Messengers, they had travelled. And they had found their new home. A solitary jewel floating in the inky void of space. A blue planet with a single continent – a blue planet; water. This was their habitat, this is where they would flourish and go on. This was to be the genesis of their dominion. This Earth.
And so they came in all their forms, some as coloured vapours, others as monstrous giants, others still as hideous beings, too strange to define. This was their home now – before Mankind, before God, before Nature had satisfied herself of all her desires. And on this new, raw planet their spawn corrupted Nature and bent her evolution to their own.
Fascinated by what he read, the Professor, captivated by the book’s strange power, read on into the night
When the first Old Ones, never dying but immortal in their existence, first looked through the silvery sheen of the ocean, up at the twinkling lights of the distant stars, they looked back at their history and wondered. The sky was dark at night, darker than in future generations’ times, for the first ones were not accustomed to the reflected light of the sun – for in those ancient nights, there was no moon to produce bright in the darkness – no moon to govern the movement of the waters upon the face of the globe. This was a tideless planet and in its calm, the first ones prospered. Deep within the waters, deep in the planet’s hidden spaces, grew the Old Ones.
There was no such other life on the surface of this young world – no such organism which could perceive their presence, yet their force was potent.
And, for all that potency, there was a loneliness, and they told stories among themselves that, even remembering the truth of their coming, wove myth into the strands of reality that remained.
This was strange information indeed, for it seemed to tell of an alternate history – a history of madness. The Professor had once read of a case where a librarian had come across pages from an ancient manuscript and, after carefully reading them, had lost his mind completely. This, he determined, would not happen to him. Therefore, taking several of his treasured tomes from his shelves, he prepared various charms to protect his mind from insanity. Thus satisfied that he should now be safe, he continued to read.
Their civilisation flourished and prospered under the starry, moonless skies and deeper beneath the dark oceans. Their offspring thrived on Nature’s offerings and their culture became established. Names, now only half remembered and whispered in hushed tones, reverberated through the planet – awesome beings whose power was beyond imagining.
Great Cthulhu, the greatest of them all, rose to the surface of the sea from his underwater realms to stare at the sky, waiting for the change they all expected – and feared.
It was lucky for Professor Maloy that he had prepared his mind, for to even read the name of Dread Cthulhu was to invite insanity. There was a chill in the air and so the Professor placed another few logs on the fire and ensured his windows were closed. There was a storm approaching and the sky was darkening. He, again, continued to read.
And then it came.
One dark ancient night in Earth’s forgotten past the end of their dominion came.
Brilliant light, brighter than the sun, flooded through the oceans and seared their eyes. Heat unknown to that young planet, ripped away its atmosphere and boiled off its waters, venting great vapour spouts high into the void, and the great single continent was violently split asunder.
In their vast submarine and labyrinthine chambers, the Old Ones sought retreat and were sealed into their rock tombs – sealed within to await Time’s release.
The planet, almost dying with the massive shock inflicted upon it, spat a great mass of itself into space and its great, fiery heart spewed forth vital energies until the world sterilised itself with fire.
No life remained, but that sealed within the deep, remote chambers of its heart.
The Professor’s eye glanced up at his bookshelf and his gaze fixed on an old Bible. It reminded him of Genesis, the story of the creation of the world – yet, reading this ancient written account, it seemed somehow blasphemous to him. He felt some level of relief holding his crucifix, a sense of security.
Let there be light – there was light.
And the light separated day from night – this was the first day.
Millions of years passed and a new phenomenon occurred. To those who could sense beyond the walls of their sealed tomb, a strange light illuminated the night sky – not the brilliant gold that gave light and colour to the day, but a cold, silver unearthly light which shone throughout the night. And with it appeared a new God – a silver disc which marched across the dark sky. She was called Sister to the golden disc – she was to be called the Moon. The Old Ones knew and understood her attraction for they felt it in the movement of the seas – and the oceans first knew the periodic ebb and flow of the first tides. And the Old Ones understood this too, and they comprehended that their dominion over this young world was to decline while newer life took over.
All this was understood and they collected their plans to survive , deep within the Earth, to await their time again.
Half remembered school lessons came unbidden to his mind, lessons that taught God’s creation of the world
‘And God said Let there be lights in the Firmament of Heaven to give light upon the Earth and it was so. And God made two great lights, the greater to rule the day and the lesser to rule the night.’
Genesis I, 15-
As the Moon’s ethereal glow shone down on the healing planet, the riven land masses slowly drifted into new patterns, creating new continents and oceans.
And new life grew in shape and size and form and desire until Nature had repopulated the planet anew. And the Old Ones extended their influence beyond their tombs once again and touched the minds and spirits of these ancient beasts.
Yet they found no intelligence upon the face of the Earth nor swimming within the
deep -
But even this merest touch had consequences, for ferocity was bred and with it desire for dominance and with that came bloodthirsty violence among the new creatures of the Earth.
Corruption spread through all the beasts of Nature, eventually staining, irrevocably, the very blueprint of life.
A chill passed through Professor Ignatius Maloy as he read more of this strange and blasphemous book. It was as if it parodied God’s creation – God’s pure creation – as if it tainted it with even the thought of it being true.
No, God’s words would ultimately be correct, this was the raving of some half insane cultist in the throes of worship.
The Old Ones were content to wait, now their seed had been planted within Nature. Yet, they remained troubled, for they could foresee the vessel they required to release them, but could not foresee a mechanism to influence how it was to be brought about.
They brooded within their sleep of aeons and turned their malevolent eyes to the future – upon Time itself.
And they planned…
[bit more of Ignatius Maloy here]
After still more endless millennia a new, fragile form of life arose. From the plainlands of Earth this new life spread to all places. This new life was weak, afraid of the night, afraid of the Sun’s cold Sister Moon and afraid of its many predators.
Generations of this animal arose and died until, eventually, the tug of the will of the Old Ones succeeded in touching one the deeply implanted instincts, unwittingly fostered by Nature, placed by the Old Ones so long ago.
And so this awkward, weak but potentially intelligent creature first picked up an object for used as a weapon and used it to extend the range of its own fists.
This creature was to become Mankind, created by Nature to survive and go on, but touched by the Old Ones to know their rage.
‘And the Lord God formed Man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of Man and Man became a living soul’
Genesis II, 7
Professor Ignatius Maloy pondered these words and wondered if there was any truth here. The Genesis story was well taught and accepted, but there were those who questioned this. Could they know information hidden to the rest of Humanity – information such as he was now reading?
As Mankind slowly became the dominant species upon the face of the Earth and as his fingers reached out across the land and oceans to new terrain – to be brought under his control by the clenching of his extended fist, the Old Ones watched.
Save one, who was given to leave incarceration and to wander freely among the first Mankind. He was called in those ancient days, Menes – the Bringer of Darkness, and all Mankind fell to their knees to worship him in his terrible beauty.
It was Menes, the goat-
‘So God created Man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. And God blessed them and said unto them Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the Earth and subdue it – have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the foul of the air and over every living thing that moveth upon the Earth.’
Genesis I, 27-
‘And that old serpent that is called Satan, etc, etc’
Reference
It was to Nature that Ignatius Maloy prayed as he saw in this book the coming fall of Man and the rise of sin. Nature, for she alone had been instrumental in saving Mankind from despair and destruction and the hands of the Old Ones. What God could do more?
By his hand a book was formed. Seventeen pages of slate bound with iron rings – rings formed by the application of Menes’ will. This book, treasured by a few dark brothers of the first Humanity, abhorred by Nature and forgotten by Man, passed into history where it was to remain hidden.
The book delivered death to those of Nature, true understanding to the dark brotherhood and hope to the Old Ones. However, Nature once again saved her experiment and rose up new mountains, flooded new seas and positioned new stars in the night sky to thwart Menes in his plans.
The Old Ones howled in impotent rage as they found their powers diminished with their long captivity deep within the bowels of the Earth.
Menes was punished for his failures and physical form was taken from him. He was to exist now as a primal force, carried on the wings of carrion flies.
In his hands he held the Book Of Menes!
In his hands, the creation of the Lord of Flies.
He read on.
In the upheaval of the planet, Nature chose to destroy her creatures, to save her experiment and, during the reshaping of the seas and land, the first Mankind was utterly destroyed and all of his vast and advanced civilisation returned to the depths of Nature’s fiery heart.
Nothing remained for the devastation was total, save only those protected under the cloud of Menes, unseen and unheard by Nature during the violent protestations of her twisted planet.
Menes smiled for it was from these pathetic remnants that Mankind would be reborn. From these vessels would Man repopulate the world and, with their spread, would be carried knowledge and rememberance of the Old Ones – Menes rested in contentment, his goal achieved, Mankind’s corruption assured – and Nature lamented.
As the seasons passed by the millions and the planet settled again, Mankind grew less prodigiously this time, but more steadily, more sturdily and more confidently footed upon the new ground he now trod.
His civilisations grew, some rose and other fell, but in all his activities, the taint of Menes was present, even though the Old Ones had been forgotten – though some remembered, and either accepted these thoughts and found new Gods, save Nature, to pray to, or else were driven insane with this ancient knowledge.
Again, Menes rested within his pestilence.
[bit from Genesis re: the flood, noah, etc]
The professor saw the parallels between this fictional account and the Bible he had been brought up with, for here was the same struggle, with Nature as God and Menes as Satan. For indeed, was not the symbol of Menes the horned goat, the same symbol used by witches and certain cults to embody the Devil himself?
And Menes, cast from the presence of the Old Ones into the world; like Satan, cast from the light of Heaven and God’s, or perhaps Cthulhu’s, presence to corrupt and tempt Mankind. But where, in the Bible, Satan worked against God’s plan, Menes toiled to gain his Master’s favour!
Could all this be true? Was, in fact, the Bible simply a corruption of an ancient truth – its story retold and confused?
The summoning of Menes – the summoning of Satan – both great Evils – where, then, was the Saviour in this text. Where was the light?
The swarm grew exponentially from the one elemental entity, multiplying at an impossible rate until it choked the sky and filled the sight with its writhing, nebulous self. Like smoke blown on the wind, it moved – seeking out its mate that the next generation of its hideous evolution may live. Its shadow moved over the land as it hungered, blighting and destroying all it fell on in its passing.
He realised, too late, that the book, while telling the reader a version of history,
was also showing how Menes moved within this world. He knew of no other reference
to Menes, save only reports of this text, and so, perhaps, if there had been away
of stopping the reading – almost ritualistic now in its intensity – perhaps, Professor
Ignatius Maloy may have averted that which Nature had stayed for so long.
Perhaps.
When roused, the coming of Menes was inevitable – his winged cloud, the millions of flies who carried him in corruption, flew swiftly and with purpose; to carry their Lord to the place of his summoning, there to meet with the reader of his pages – now to face Menes himself.
Mankind could not comprehend Menes’ presence within the world and as punishment for their failure to welcome the Old Ones, destruction was assured. But to those who met the challenge with sound mind and held open the doorway until Menes could reach through and pull his ancient Masters into Reality, greater rewards than Nature could promise were to be enjoyed.
The Old Ones sensed the summoning of Menes and they watched, from deep within the Earth, as the cloud swarmed across the sky.
The moonlight reflected on the beating wings of millions of flies, gave the illusion of a giant eye – the Eye of Menes – as he searched for the Book.
It was found.
Holding the pages of grey slate in his trembling hands he felt a surge of energy as he turned to read the next page. There was something wrong here – something which filled the Professor’s mind with dread – yet he had to read on.
He sought in his mind the strength to overcome his fears and cast another simple charm on himself that he might better resist any mental weakness.
If the forces of Cthulhu were to come, he would be ready – he would resist – there would be no new inmate for the asylum this night!
Toward the Book fell the cloud, out from the dark sky came Menes and the Old Ones felt his triumph. Nature tried to save her creature with one final struggle, unleashing elemental forces to disrupt the swarm before it arrived, but to no avail – her fury was spent millennia ago and Time had ravaged her powers. The thunder seemed only to punctuate the terror of all those who the cloud’s shadow passed over – the lightning only to illuminate in frozen tableaux the hideous, predatory face of Menes.
Closer, closer – Time itself seemed to pause as the inevitable drew closer. This was the end of Mankind’s dominion, as it had happened to the Old Ones so long ago.
In the final seconds, the Book’s purpose nearly complete, the swarm neared – only a thin sheet of glass separating the two.
The noise!
It deafened Ignatius Maloy – a low drone – getting louder. The darkness outside was complete and he could see writhing clouds on the horizon, lightning seemingly flickering around it. It may have been his overwrought brain but for a moment, a brief moment, he would have sworn he saw a face within the cloud – a face looking directly at him!
He clambered to the fireplace and threw more logs to burn – and held his crucifix
tighter to his heart. Too late, now, he looked around his room, his eyes taking
in all of the bric-
Through stumbling, numb lips he began to recite the half-
With trembling hands he turned to the last page of the Book of Menes and stared in uncomprehending terror at what he saw there.
The last page was blank!
He began to laugh, hysterically, uncontrollably.
The deafening noise abated and real fear struck at his soul. Fear turned to sheer, gibbering terror as his window crashed open and a man stepped through the broken opening. Yet this was no man. With the icy chill of Death’s hand around his heart he saw that the substance of the thing was composed entirely of flies.
Words began to appear on the last page of the Book of Menes.
Menes, in all his terrible rage, crashed through the glass window and his cloud reassembled itself into the shape of a man of unholy beauty. Glass crunched under his feet as he walked into the room toward the cowering Human. He raised his hand and the presented crucifix, the impotent symbol of another of Mankind’s failed religions, crumbled into the dust of ages.
Menes walked toward the Man, the drone of the swarm filling his ears, seeming to call him, whispering his name. He must resist, he must block his mind to evil.
Yet for all his ability to avoid madness and complete destruction, he could not withstand the onslaught of Menes’ great mind.
The book, the last page complete, closed and Menes looked up from within the distorted face of what was once Professor Ignatius Maloy and smiled at his new world.