An epilogue to Victor LaValle's novella "The Ballad of Black Tom", itself a more racially progressive adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft's "The Horror at Red Hook", written for Advanced Fiction Writing Workshop in Fall 2020. I wrote it pretty much in one take for a weekly discussion assignment. I had some familiarity with the Cthulhu mythos, of course, but mostly I bluffed my way through it.
Black Tom: The Unauthorized Encore
Cthulhu quivered as Becky's lithe, sensuous tendrils wrapped themselves around his own, cold and damp to the touch, simultaneously a homogeneous mass and an assemblage of individual appendages each doing their own thing. If he'd had anything analogous to a heart, it would have been pounding like a sequence of planetary collisions. She gave no resistance as he pulled her in closer, closer –
It took him a couple decades to realize she was no longer there, had never been there. Just a dream. And he was no longer dreaming.
Cthulhu blinked the sleep from his eyes for a few years before noticing the insect that floated in front of him. The source, he now realized, of his awakening.
A guttural growl like the rending of the universe welled up in his throat as he mumbled, “What the hells do you want?”
The speck dropped to one knee, remaining steady despite the lack of anything like solid ground beneath him. “O, Great Cthulhu,” it began, somehow speaking his language. “I, Black Tom, have –”
“Awakened me from the most wonderful dream,” Cthulhu snapped, wide awake now. “Yes, I noticed. The only reason I haven't already rent you into subatomic particles is that I'm just curious enough to know why.”
Black Tom faltered. “Oh, uh – you're not happy?”
“Do I look happy to you?” Cthulhu raged, his tentacles flailing as if they could still reach out and touch the most beautiful eldritch abomination he'd ever seen. “I was just about to – well, never mind, thinking about it now is only going to piss me off even more. You thought I'd be happy to get woken up? Did I ask you to wake me up? Did I put up a big sign written in arcane evil letters, floating in the cosmos, saying 'Please wake me up in your meaningless mortal equivalent of this inscrutable equation denoting a certain point in my timeless existence'? I think I would remember doing that, but by all means, correct me if I'm wrong.”
“Well, uh –” Black Tom's folded leg started to wobble now. “This guy, he – well, we both just assumed – I guess I don't know why, really, but –”
“Oh, that's rich,” Cthulhu said. “It never occurred to you that maybe I left your plane of existence for a reason? That maybe, even for an unholy crime against God and nature such as myself, it's an existential nightmare that I'd just like to get the hells away from?”
“I thought you were indifferent,” Black Tom said.
“Well, yeah,” Cthulhu said, lowering his voice to a mere billion decibels. “Okay, it's not that bad. I'm just upset that you interrupted my dream. I think after I indifferently lay waste to whatever atom you sprang from, I'll think of something special to do to you.”
“Hang on,” Black Tom said, rising to both his feet and holding out his hands in a placating gesture that was almost cute. “Before I became a demon with power over time and space, I was what's known as a hustler. I can get things. I can manipulate people. Maybe we can work out a deal? I do something to help you out, and in return, you only annihilate the white folks and make me king of the world? See, I'm not asking much; I'll be satisfied with one measly planet.”
“And what,” Cthulhu said, so intrigued by this thing's audacity that he almost forgot his wrath, “could you possibly have to offer me?”
“Well,” Black Tom said with an impish grin and a raised eyebrow, “what do you want?”
What, indeed. He couldn't even get her to look at him...
But wait, Cthulhu thought. This Black Tom fellow was the most interesting specimen of insignificant protoplasm he'd seen in, well, ever. The only one that had stood out, that had managed to subvert his expectations and baffle his massive unknowable mind. Surely Becky would think so too.
“Do you play guitar, by chance?” he asked.
Black Tom had the audacity to wink at him. “I know a couple tunes.”
“I'll think about it,” Cthulhu said, yawning with a sound that would have melted any other human. He rolled over, turning his leathery winged back toward Black Tom and nearly tearing the fabric of the space-time continuum. “Wake me up again in five centuries.”
It took him a couple decades to realize she was no longer there, had never been there. Just a dream. And he was no longer dreaming.
Cthulhu blinked the sleep from his eyes for a few years before noticing the insect that floated in front of him. The source, he now realized, of his awakening.
A guttural growl like the rending of the universe welled up in his throat as he mumbled, “What the hells do you want?”
The speck dropped to one knee, remaining steady despite the lack of anything like solid ground beneath him. “O, Great Cthulhu,” it began, somehow speaking his language. “I, Black Tom, have –”
“Awakened me from the most wonderful dream,” Cthulhu snapped, wide awake now. “Yes, I noticed. The only reason I haven't already rent you into subatomic particles is that I'm just curious enough to know why.”
Black Tom faltered. “Oh, uh – you're not happy?”
“Do I look happy to you?” Cthulhu raged, his tentacles flailing as if they could still reach out and touch the most beautiful eldritch abomination he'd ever seen. “I was just about to – well, never mind, thinking about it now is only going to piss me off even more. You thought I'd be happy to get woken up? Did I ask you to wake me up? Did I put up a big sign written in arcane evil letters, floating in the cosmos, saying 'Please wake me up in your meaningless mortal equivalent of this inscrutable equation denoting a certain point in my timeless existence'? I think I would remember doing that, but by all means, correct me if I'm wrong.”
“Well, uh –” Black Tom's folded leg started to wobble now. “This guy, he – well, we both just assumed – I guess I don't know why, really, but –”
“Oh, that's rich,” Cthulhu said. “It never occurred to you that maybe I left your plane of existence for a reason? That maybe, even for an unholy crime against God and nature such as myself, it's an existential nightmare that I'd just like to get the hells away from?”
“I thought you were indifferent,” Black Tom said.
“Well, yeah,” Cthulhu said, lowering his voice to a mere billion decibels. “Okay, it's not that bad. I'm just upset that you interrupted my dream. I think after I indifferently lay waste to whatever atom you sprang from, I'll think of something special to do to you.”
“Hang on,” Black Tom said, rising to both his feet and holding out his hands in a placating gesture that was almost cute. “Before I became a demon with power over time and space, I was what's known as a hustler. I can get things. I can manipulate people. Maybe we can work out a deal? I do something to help you out, and in return, you only annihilate the white folks and make me king of the world? See, I'm not asking much; I'll be satisfied with one measly planet.”
“And what,” Cthulhu said, so intrigued by this thing's audacity that he almost forgot his wrath, “could you possibly have to offer me?”
“Well,” Black Tom said with an impish grin and a raised eyebrow, “what do you want?”
What, indeed. He couldn't even get her to look at him...
But wait, Cthulhu thought. This Black Tom fellow was the most interesting specimen of insignificant protoplasm he'd seen in, well, ever. The only one that had stood out, that had managed to subvert his expectations and baffle his massive unknowable mind. Surely Becky would think so too.
“Do you play guitar, by chance?” he asked.
Black Tom had the audacity to wink at him. “I know a couple tunes.”
“I'll think about it,” Cthulhu said, yawning with a sound that would have melted any other human. He rolled over, turning his leathery winged back toward Black Tom and nearly tearing the fabric of the space-time continuum. “Wake me up again in five centuries.”