1536: Creepypasta One Shot: Whole Lotta LovecraftPosted: September 18, 2016
(We interrupt the flow of Love of a Spartan to bring you Admiral Sakai’s Creepypastathon! Due to the proximity of Halloween and the number of Pastas he has gathered for us, we’re going to be featuring one a week until after October. Enjoy! ~Lyle)
Critiqued by AdmiralSakai and
Hello hello, everyone. Grab your blood bags and keep on the lookout for Sonic plushies, ‘cause it’s that time again…
Honestly, after the absolute moronicism of that last hunk of Love of a Spartan, the many fine men, women, and rudimentary Turing machines inhabiting the Creepypasta Wiki seem like an improvement.
“For you, maybe. Me, I’ve about had enough of this nonsense.”
“If I wanted to read about adolescent humans whining about their ruined childhoods, I would get an IGN account. I’m still with you for Love of a Spartan, but I’ve had enough of this so-called ‘horror’. I. Quit.”
*Tapping a button on his omni, the elderly turian vanishes in a puff of hyper-realism.*
Ah well. I wanted to upgrade to someone who has actual experience with the supernatural anyway.
-[A FEW MINUTES OF FURIOUS TYPING LATER]-
*A new figure materializes inside the control room- green, scaly, and easily seven feet tall, heavily muscled under pieced-together black body armor. Her neck pushes forward from her shoulders, terminating in a batrachian head with prominent gills below domed, side-mounted yellow eyes, and her blunted conical snout contains both two small slit nostrils and a wide mouth filled with dozens of tiny, needle-like teeth. Spiny, fin-like ridges run down her back, forearms, and calves, and her webbed fingers terminate in small black claws.The inscription “UNITY FRONT: NIHIL EST, QUOD NON SCIENDIUM HOMINI” is barely visible on one shoulder guard, crudely painted over.*
Meet Psk’nyor-C’hon– “Nina Gilman” to those of us who like to actually be able to pronounce shit. Nina hails from an extremely fucked-up-in-a-good-way Call of Cthulhu tabletop RPG a few real-life friends and I set up, and is to my knowledge the first and only instance of a pure-bred Deep One being a player character that has ever been attempted.
To make a very long story extremely short, her version of the Cthulhu Mythos has basically been brought low by reasonably intelligent people deciding to not be idiots and actually think rationally about it, resulting in the formation of a shadowy government counter-paranormal organization called UNITY that’s basically the SCP Foundation, Cerberus, and the Men In Black all rolled into one.
This is (mostly) good news for humanity, but not so good news for the Deep Ones- despite never actually having done anything demonstrably bad other than be kind of xenophobic and exploitative in interacting with human fishing villages, they still got attacked following the events of The Shadow Over Innsmouth, and unlike Lovecraft’s military UNITY actually stuck around to finish the goddamn job. As a result, Nina has lived basically her whole adult life as a resistance fighter trying to keep the US government from getting control of her city, and circumstances kind of forced her to be the first of her people to try reaching out to non-UNITY human paranormal investigators for support. She’s tough, good with firearms, speaks reasonably good English, and since she hails from a universe where logical analysis of vague, purple horror writing resulted in a complete reinterpretation of events, I figured she’d be great for tearing apart creepypasta. Whaddaya think?
“Well, you left out my brilliant tactical insight and stunning good looks, but if this flat-face horror writing is anything like that haunted factory my gang cleaned out near Arkham, I’m willing to give it a go!”
Oh, this is at least 850% lamer.
“Well, all right then.” *snags a spare rollie-chair and sits down* “What’s our first target?”
I was thinking that since you’re here, we could take on a couple of gems from the “Lovecraftian” section of Creepypasta Wiki.
As we go through these, I’ll try to be disentangling the much more extensive canon of the UNITYverse from Lovecraft’s original Cthulhu Mythos, but since much of the UNITYverse was created by analyzing Lovecraft’s work rationally and pointing out its flaws we’re probably going to end up in pretty much the same place. Of course, that’s assuming any of these stories turn out to have anything to do with the Cthulhu Mythos in the first place, which with Creepypasta is anybody’s bet.
“Still, best not to get my hopes up.”
Our first story, by “TheIdealist”, is entitled “Nazi and Lovecraft”.
Well, at least it’s clear about what to expect.
“Why only one Nazi, though? I was alive during World War II, and I distinctly remember there being Nazis, plural. Quite a few of them, in fact.”
The title picture is, well, indeed, about what you’d expect from a story called “Nazi and Lovecraft”:
This guy’s labcoat/uniform looks a little off compared to the ones worn by actual Nazi science personnel, but the picture is blurry, I don’t know all of the variants, and I’m not getting myself on a watchlist by looking them up.
[Future AdmiralSakai: Actually, looking more closely I think he’s really wearing a standard, non-uniform lab coat, and what I’d thought were insignia on the collar are just shadows and part of his gas mask.]
Also, in recognition of the time-honored creepypasta tradition of blatantly ripping things off, I’d like to note that the original name of the photo on CPW is The_Hexenhammer_Projekt.jpg. That already sounds like a better story than this one.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Knowing the Creepypasta Wiki, it’s probably even worse.”
In May 1938, Hitler was desperate to find the Holy Grail. He believed it would bestow more power upon him, and that with it he could over take anyone.
“I’m pretty sure that in May 1938, Hitler was still pretty convinced that the Wehrmacht was all he needed to ‘over take anyone’. And wasn’t particularly ‘desperate’ to do anything.”
Word of advice- don’t study history by watching Indiana Jones.
To accomplish this, Hitler sent a group of his finest men to Tibet, in hopes of finding the legendary artifact that he so craved.
… why would the Holy Grail be in Tibet? It was supposedly taken from the Middle East to Britain- not only was Tibet insanely isolated, especially at that time, it’s in exactly the opposite direction.
“I think this is based on a real expedition to Tibet the SS ran in 1939, but inland history I didn’t personally live was never really my thing and this story’s timeline is so fucked up I don’t really know what anything is supposed to be anyway.”
The expedition lasted for almost an entire year, and towards its end, the men were becoming tired. But they trekked on, fearing the punishment for failure.
“Maybe they should have stopped to rest instead of walking for an entire year, then.”
They were, of course, overjoyed when they found the vault. They had been told by a guide that it was where they could find great and lost treasure. Things that had the power to change the world.
It turned out to be full of “KONY 1912” posters. Man were they disappointed.
The vault was hidden deep inside some lesser known ruins.
“You know, those ruins. The ones with all the things.”
Upon arrival they were awed by the sheer size of the door. It was a circular door, with a diameter of at least 100 feet. It had shrubs and growths of various natures all over it.
It should really get the growths looked at, then. They might be door cancer.
Most of which were plants they had never seen before.
Not a sentence…
The troops spent several hours removing the plant life so the vault could be opened. They used knives, flame, anything they could. And it was only after they had completed this task that they realized they had no way of opening the vault.
“Well, they sure must’ve felt stupid after that…”
The door looked like it was made for a giant. They couldn’t so much as reach for the handle, for it was 50 feet in the air. Finally though, after much hard work and thought, they decided on a plan.
The strongest men got their strongest rope, attached a hook to the end, and they tossed it in the air towards the handle. Managing to wrap it around the handle was difficult, but they eventually succeeded.
“It took them that long to come up with the ‘wrap a rope around it and have a bunch of soldiers pull’ plan?”
Now I see why Hitler sent these particular soldiers on a year-long expedition away from the front.
It took ten men to make it even budge, and twenty to really get it moving. But they managed it. They got the vault open as they intended.
“If it takes twenty Nazis to open a door…”
“How many does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
This is our first riff together, and I already hate you.
Upon opening it they sent in a small three man team to try and scope it out. They entered with high hopes of something, anything to bring back to Hitler. They feared him more than anything, which was most definitely a mistake.
“Oh, great. An armchair-general narrator.”
After three hours they began to worry for the safety of their reconnaissance squad.
“Three hours? What, so they didn’t send their recon team in with any sort of orders about returning in a timely fashion? No moving incrementally deeper into the complex and then reporting back?”
Can we… just go ahead and have the armchair-general narrator back, please? These guys obviously need one.
But before more men could venture in, they heard a screaming, like that of a mad man.
One of the men ran out of the vault. He was screaming, laughing, and covered in blood. They questioned him, but all he would tell them is that he had made sacrifice for the Great Old Ones.
After some debate the remaining men entered the vault.
“Ok, here‘s a tactical exercise for you, right out of the UNITY handbook-
Your team is exploring a massive, ancient structure of clearly non-human manufacture. Two and a half hours overdue, a single member of your scouting party comes limping back, covered head-to-toe in blood and screaming insanely about ‘Great Old Ones’. What do you do?”
… If you chose “Have everyone else go inside the structure as well- they probably have cookies in there!” congratulations. You, sir and/or madam, are a perfect fit for our elite “D-Class” program! You get your own bright-orange jumpsuit and everything!
They cautiously walked through what seemed like an ancient city.
… but was actually just Mykan narration.
Full of statues of giant beasts, some resembling squid, but with more human features added on.
“And it looks like the mighty powers of Great Cthulhu obliterated the first half of that sentence, too.”
In the center of the city was a large platform with stairs leading up to it.
“Wow, can’t you just feel the bizarre, alien majesty of this ancient structure?”
No, not really.
I’m not a big fan of Lovecraft’s writing style- I think it’s overpoweringly purple and drenches you in a bunch of superlative adjectives that if anything just serve to obfuscate what is actually taking place, when I prefer prose that is economical, clinical, and to-the-point. But that still means you need to actually describe shit- I for one pictured this “city” as being the stock “ruins” set from the original Star Trek, but really all we know is that it “seems ancient” and there’s statues of Cthulhu around. We don’t even know if the buildings, or the statues, are normal-sized or scaled to match the vault door.
“… Wait. There’s other Star Treks?”
I’m… not so sure if the two of us should hang out any more.
“Look, I’ve been stuck in accidental cryostasis since 1974, ok?”
There was, in the center of this platform, a book. The binding and pages were odd in texture, almost like flesh. The words in the book seemed odd and foreign, not like anything they had ever seen.
“*gasp* Foreign languages in a foreign country?! Surely this is the work of the supernatural!”
And the cover almost looked like it had a face…
Wait a minute. That’s the Necronomicon! How the fuck did the Necronomicon get here?!
Anybody who bothers to study this particular fictional branch of the occult can tell you that the Necronomicon was written in Damascus in 730 CE- so what’s it doing in a vaulty-city-thing that’s been untouched since the time of the Great Old Ones?
“I dunno, maybe cultists put it there? They’re always getting into weird places where you’d never expect them. Sort of like scale itch, really.”
Ok, maybe, but why? Cultists might be kind of stupid, but they don’t do things for no reason at all. What possible benefit would they accrue from just leaving a powerful magical tome in the middle of an ancient ruin where nobody can get to it?
They thought the book to be rare, and took it, proceeding down the platform. Reaching the bottom they felt a great thunderous shaking, and saw the vault door close before their very eyes. Much faster than they ever thought possible for something that large to move, they were trapped.
Torches in hand they did the only thing they thought to do. Search for alternative exits.
“Wait, so they didn’t try just sticking a Necronomicon-sized weight on the pedestal instead? That’s pretty much the first day of Artifact Recovery training right there.”
They marched through more and more odd ruins, filled with the same statues and art that they had seen previously.
You know, all that cool alien stuff.
Finally they came to a great lake, one which seemed to extend deep into the Earth.
Then they saw something which chilled them. A slab, a large stone one, with a German helmet sitting on it. The slab was covered in blood. Fresh blood. Only hours old from what they could tell.
They collected the helmet and explored around the underground lake. When suddenly the one among them carrying the odd book began to laugh. He pulled his sidearm from its holster and took one of his own men hostage.
… from behind!
Forcing him to the slab, he shot him point blank, and drained a small amount of blood onto it. Then he tossed the body into the waters below. It happened very fast, but the second it registered with the rest of the troops, they shot the renegade as well, sending him to rest with his victim.
… wait, this one nameless Nazi was able to do all of that before the rest of the nameless Nazis even noticed that anything was going on?
“In addition to being morons, these so-called soldiers are really glubbing unobservant!”
Maybe one of these guys survived the war, went into hiding in America, and got a job as the security guard in suicidemouse.avi?
Another great quake ran through the city and shook it.
From the depths of the lake came a large tentacle, like from one of the squid creatures seen in the sculptures.
“Wait, now Great Cthulhu‘s here?! That… doesn’t make any sense either.
‘Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nafl fhtagan‘, author. It’s the absolute most basic tenet of my people’s religion: the crecheworkers sang it for us every single night when I was a child, and it’s kept me going even after the flat-faces nuked me and occupied my city and cut my friends open to see how they worked. ‘In his house in R’lyeh Great Cthulhu lies dreaming‘.
In the Pacific Ocean.
Which is notably not Tibet.”
I think TheIdealist just jammed a bunch of random Cthulhu Mythos concepts in a blender, added a sprinkle of Dan Brown, and hit “Puree”.
It wrapped around a large rock. Then came another, and another. More and more came from the waters, and soon it seemed like 100 tentacles were all around them.
But there were actually only 93½.
“How do you have half a tentacle?”
It’s Lovecraft! It doesn’t have to make sense!
“… I hate you.”
And then, shortly after, they beheld a sight that no sane man had seen. A grand beast rose from the depths. It seemed god like.
I guess it didn’t have any other defining qualities, though, since the description stops there.
Suddenly they all felt they understood everything, and they began to kill each other in fits of rage and madness.
As opposed to the two of us, who want to kill them in fits of rage and madness because we still feel like we don’t understand anything.
“As bare-bones as this story is, it’s really kind of impressive how well it makes the reader have no idea what’s going on.”
The beast swept the bodies, both living and dead, into the sea, consuming them.
“Wait, is it a lake or a sea?”
Does it matter?
“Well, only in that if you stay too long in the latter, you’ll start to metabolize fresh water and your gills’ll swell up, and literally explode, and you’ll die an agonizing death.”
By the end of the massacre only one man remained, and he began to shuffle out holding the book they had found earlier.
As he left, he put the book back in its place, and then the door proceeded to open. He left that vault, losing more than the book. He had lost his sanity.
He made it back to his base camp, where they questioned him thoroughly. He responded only with gibberish about the “Old Ones”.
Seventy years later someone wrote all of his insane ramblings down on the Internet, and called it Nazi and Lovecraft.
Saying the men had been sacrificed.
The only thing that is known for sure past that is that they never recovered the book.
Wait, if they never recovered the book, where’d the picture at the top come from?
“And if the only soldier to come back was a gibbering wreck, how did they know what happened inside the vault? Glub, how’d they know there was a book in the first place?!”
They tried several times, Hitler sending more men, but only one ever coming back from each group.
All of which were mad. All spoke in gibberish. And all praised the Old Ones.
“You know, after two or three repetitions of this a smart leader would get the hint and stop sending more men.”
Well, to be fair, this was Hitler.
“… That’s the end, by the way. We never do learn what happened to the program after the War, or what any of these people’s names were. The story just sort of… stops. I also think that it’s worth noting- of the two comments that aren’t some stupid fight over ‘whether Hitler had an army before 1943’ (he did), one rates the story eight out of ten, and the other ten out of ten!”
Well, we’ve still got another one to deal with.
“Oh, great. More blasphemy.”
I was going to do a story called Cthulhu Cultus[sic], which basically completely rips off Nazi and Lovecraft, but in fact it’s so similar that riffing one is basically riffing the other along with it- they share pretty much the same premise, the same pacing, and the same flaws, right down to the question of how anyone could know about the horror if everyone involved died. So, instead, we’ll be doing a type of creepypasta we haven’t been
cursed blessed with on this feature before: a ritual. Nina, my flow chart please!
Ritual pastas are pretty much exactly what they sound like- instructions for magical rituals that you can perform in order to achieve some sort of effect. Overall, I’d say they’re actually not as absolutely terrible as the rest of the “pastaverse”, probably because since they’re just instructions and descriptions there’s no narrative to fuck up.
Nonetheless, a lot of them would be extremely difficult or dangerous to perform in reality, they tend to suffer from an obsession with saying “and if you don’t do this one step exactly right, you will suffer a horrible and nonspecific fate!”, and a lot of the effects are either things that you could accomplish much more easily through mundane means or are actually things that most sane people wouldn’t want. Nonetheless, I’m sure there’s people out there who try these rituals in real life and are continually disappointed when (spoiler alert) they don’t actually work.
“The one we’re looking at is called “Phile”, by a user named “DONTLOOKFORME”.”
I wasn’t going to look for you. Sheesh. No need to yell…
“There doesn’t seem to be a photo for this one, so we can just get right to it.”
What You Need:
- A weapon that took a human life.
“I hate to be the one to always ask this, but do Deep Ones count? If not, why?”
- A pen, or any writing utensil that requires ink.
- An aged piece of paper.
Define “aged” for me, if you don’t mind. You can’t just put random adjectives in front of everything if you’re supposedly writing detailed instructions for other people to follow.
“I’d hate to attempt this ritual under enemy fire and discover that my paper is still four months away from meeting its agedness requirement…”
Maybe it’s a legal term. Does the paper have to qualify for Social Security?
- A cork.
- Spiked shoes.
- A strong mind.
- A will to live.
This is sounding less and less like an occult ritual and more and more like the intro theme to some horrible 90s anime.
What is Phile?
Phile is a dimension that takes the form of a grotesque matter (shaped like a flipped semi-sphere.) of mangled and distorted creatures not seen by humans.
I’m not quite sure what to make of that myself.
So, Phile is another dimension. Which is not, technically, the correct use of “dimension”- it’s more accurate to say that Phile is a location separated from us by a displacement through another dimension- but the layman’s use is so damn common it’s pointlessly confusing to even bring it up.
But it’s also matter- grotesque matter, in fact! Well, actually, it says “a grotesque matter”, so Phile is apparently both another dimension and an uncomfortable topic, but ignoring that I guess it really is just a free-floating (gravitationally cohesive?) collection of… biomass? So, like a colonial organism, maybe?
And it’s supposed to be shaped like a “semi-sphere”- now, a semicircle is half of a circle and a hemisphere is half of a sphere, “semi” and “hemi” being just the Latin and Greek root words for “half”, respectively, so I guess it is just a hemisphere, but… how is it “flipped”? Flipped relative to what? Hemispheres don’t really have a preferred orientation.
“So, what I’m getting out of this is that science is boring and you have no idea what ‘Phile’ is either.”
Well, in layman’s terms it’s half a planet in another plane of reality, made entirely from ugly-ass creatures.
In the center of the mass
Wait, there’s a “mass” too?
“I think it means the planet of ugly-ass creatures.”
is a large, hole-riddled object, described by some as a green breadstick.
Wow. This is not how you imagery.
“Although, if I’m being totally honest, I’d say I enjoy green and tan breadsticks about the same.”
Please don’t be talking about what I think you’re talking about.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not, so long as you think I’m talking about something other than… DICKS!!!!”
The holes extend far beyond how they should be, due to the object’s thin appearance.
That’s not how causation works, either. I think you mean “given the object’s thin appearance”.
Some claim the holes lead to small pocket dimensions, while others claim they lead to different plains of reality.
And that’s the wrong “planes”.
“Unless this is one of those rifts that only leads to various extradimensional prairies.”
Encompassing the objects described is a strange, pale-green ring, with objects protruding from it that cannot be described.
“Well isn’t that just so convenient for the author?”
The sky is just a blank white. What’s even more disturbing is a murmuring that can be heard from far beyond where the object is. Many who have done the ritual feel like they were being watched personally by the Devil himself.
That’s an awfully specific intuition.
“Also, if humans have done this ritual and come back, how are the creatures on Phile ‘unseen by humans’?”
Some also report briefly imagining several faces on the edge of the matter they stand on.
Phile is just a recurring acid trip, isn’t it?
Do all of the following while standing up.
First off, put on the spiked shoes. They must have spikes on the bottom.
“Oh, as opposed to all of those spiked shoes out there with spikes on the top?!”
You must use the above description, the pen, and the paper to draw what you believe the dimension looks like.
That’s going to be pretty damn hard, considering that a chunk of that description is literally just “these things cannot be described”.
Should your mind be able to comprehend it, you will ultimately draw a somewhat accurate depiction of the dimension.
“Don’t glubbing give me that. You can’t just tell the readers glub all about this thing, then when we can’t figure out what it is tell us we ‘can’t comprehend it’.”
Phile is not an intellectual challenge to comprehend, it’s just contradictory and vague.
You must use the weapon that took a human life, and cut yourself with it. It is highly recommended to use a knife, as a gun would be more painful, and takes more effort.
“Sort of like understanding this ritual.”
Grab the cork, and place it on the cut area. Wait until you stop bleeding.
If you do not stop bleeding, you probably have some form of hemophilia and should seek immediate medical attention.
Hold the cork in your left hand (right if left-handed) and the weapon in your right hand (left if left-handed).
No idea what dextro species are supposed to do. And what if you’re ambidextrous?
Stare at the paper, then begin to imagine yourself in the dimension. You must continuously focus on it only, and let no stray thoughts distract you. This is your opportunity to give up, if you wish. If you continue, you must remain focused. If the blackness of your eyelids turns yellow, you are close.
“Really? I usually see this kind of blue starburst pattern when I’m close.”
Oh, God, not again… I get enough of that nonsense from the Ren Faire reject and the anthropomorphic lion.
When it turns white, you must make your eyes blink while still closed. Then open them.
“Whatever that means…”
I think the story’s just trying to be all Zen and mysterious about briefly squeezing your eyelids further shut.
I don’t have eyelids, so I wouldn’t know how hard that is.”
Not very, actually.
“Well okay then.”
Your vision will be somewhat blurry, regardless of if you have visual assistance. The spiked shoes you wear will stop the creatures beneath you from pulling you under.
“This… kind of sounds like a small human child wrote it.”
Putting aside for the moment the fact that spikes would just increase the surface area for critters to grab onto, why can’t they just reach up and grab your legs?
If you have no spiked shoes on, or you are sitting, they will simply drag you under, and you will awake, with the area you cut infected badly.
You must focus on the tall object before you, and focus on a particular hole.
Could this possibly get any more Freudian?
Look at the hole you feel is staring at you. This may be harder for people with trypophobia.
Oh god dammit.
“ *tabs through an online dictionary* For those of you who don’t know, trypophobia is a fear of holes! I’m getting pretty good at this ‘speaking English’ stuff…”
You know, I kind of guessed that was what it meant…
Throw the cork towards the hole. Regardless of how bad you throw it, it will land in the hole. A black liquid will seep out of the hole, then run back up into it.
“Well, that’s kind of pointless.”
It is unknown what occurs if one is to fail in throwing the cork at the “Staring Hole.”
So, it’s unknown what will happen if you do this thing that is absolutely impossible to do.
Raise your arms and shout, “I wish to look beyond the box my mind creates!” The next time you blink, you will be back wherever you were.
You will be able to think more rationally.
“An upgrade DONTLOOKFORME desperately needs…”
However, do not think about things such as the beginning of time, or other complicated matters the mind cannot comprehend.
Actually, with a solid grounding in big-bang cosmology and quantum gravity, “the beginning of time” (to the degree that the concept still has a rigorously-definable meaning) really isn’t that hard to understand. This story’s just throwing around words it thinks are profound without actually understanding what it’s talking about.
“Also, maybe more importantly… what the GLUB does any of this have to do with Lovecraft?”
Extremely little, Nina. Extremely little.
There’s other dimensions and things the narration refuses to describe, but that’s about it.
If you are to do so, you will be pulled out of time, and become a Watcher, unable to interact, only able to observe.
“So, basically, you’ll end up riffing.”
I could live with that.
Do you desire limitless knowledge, or do you desire to be human? One cannot be the other.
Does “limitless knowledge” include knowing what the fuck the author of this story was thinking when they wrote it? If so, I’m in.
“Well, I really would rather not be a short, skinny, furry creature that rarely lives past 100 years, so sign me up too!”
You, uhhh… you know these rituals don’t actually work, right?
And… that’s “Phile”. And, well, I actually like it better than Nazi and Lovecraft, and for that matter most of the other creepypasta we’ve reviewed on this segment. Don’t get me wrong, “Phile” is still bad– it’s vague and pseudophilosophical, and underneath all that it kind of sounds like a little kid wrote it what with the spiked shoes and giant breadsticks and whatnot. But at least “Phile” is bad in its own unique way, as opposed to all of the other stories on CPW that are bad because they are shallow copies of other stories that are also bad. That has to count for something, right?
“And, for its daring to do something different, “Phile” has received only one review on CPW- 7/10. Which, honestly, isn’t that inflated, but still. I’d give it a five, maybe.”
I’d give it a physics textbook and a stern talking-to. But then again, I’m picky.
Good night, and good luck.