State of the Ape XIV

Healthwise, the news is still good. I had blood work done on Friday and my PSA managed to go down again: it was 0.13. I’m going for walks again. More importantly, I’m able to get to Mass again. Speaking of which, the Bride’s godson was ordained a priest last month and assigned to our parish; we attended his very first Mass yesterday (he did very well).

The cover for Murder at Minstrel Manor is progressing more slowly than I had anticipated, but we’re getting there. I’ve gotten well into revising There Will Be Murder Done. And we hope to meet with someone at the Barnes & Noble where the Bride has been doing book signings, to see about me doing a reading of Unexpected Tales.

The Storm Queen, amid a cloud of angst, applied for a job and had her interview this past week. Alas, when the details came out, it proved to be a poor fit and she withdrew her name from consideration.

The Bride is trying to finish her current novel but is hampered by a balky Muse and a load of responsibilities.

And, finally, the blogroll has been given a loooooong overdue update.
Posted by Bob the Ape 12:52 PM

There's a Shoggoth on the Roof

It's been a long time since I did anything just for giggles. The following was inspired by this little item on YouTube.


IT WAS A beautiful summer morning in legend-haunted Arkham. Little Howard Pickman woke up early and decided to go outside and play.

For a while he pretended to be a Deep One and ran back and forth making swimming motions and saying “glub-glub, glub-glub.” Then he pretended to be a ghoul and crouched, glibbering and meeping and gnawing on an imaginary thigh bone.

Suddenly an eldritch feeling ran down his spine and he smelled a nameless fetor. He looked about but saw nothing. Then he looked up, and there was a shoggoth on the roof!

Little Howard looked at the shoggoth with his two eyes and the shoggoth looked back with its twelve eyes — and then its seven eyes — and then its three eyes — and then its twenty-six eyes — until Howard grew quite dizzy counting them.

He ran back inside, rushed up the stairs, knocked on the bedroom door of his sister Keziah and went in. She was still asleep. He poked her and poked her until she woke up.

“There’s a shoggoth on the roof!” cried Howard.

“Pull the other one,” replied Keziah, who had no manners early in the morning. She rolled over and went back to sleep.

So Howard went to the bedroom door of his parents and knocked and went in. First he went to the side of the bed where his mother Asenath was sleeping and poked her and poked her until she woke up.

“Mommy, there’s a shoggoth on the roof!” cried Howard.

His mother looked at the clock. “It’s only six-thirty, Howie. Be a good little boy and let your mother sleep and I’ll scramble you a nice Shantak egg for your breakfast.” And she rolled over and went back to sleep.

So Howard went to the side of the bed where his father Edward was sleeping and poked him and poked him until he woke up.

“Daddy, there’s a shoggoth on the roof!” cried Howard.

“Really?” said his father. “Let me see.” And he got up and put on a bathrobe and slippers and went downstairs and outside with Howard and looked up. The shoggoth was still there.

“Hmmm,” said Howard’s father (whom we shall call Mr. Pickman, because that’s his name). “This is a problem.”

“Can we keep it?” asked Howard.

“I’m afraid not,” replied Mr. Pickman. “The neighbors will complain about the nameless fetor.”

“What shall we do then?”

“I suppose we should call 9-1-1.”

So they went back inside and Mr. Pickman found his cell phone and called 9-1-1. “Hello?” he said. “This is Edmund Pickman calling from 13 Parsonage Street in legend-haunted Arkham. There’s a shoggoth on our roof. Can someone please come and take it away?” After a minute he put down the phone.

“What did they say?”

“They just uttered a maniacal cachinnation and hung up.”

“Oh.”

“I know. I’ll call my friend Professor Armitage at Miskatonic University.” And he took up his phone again and called Professor Armitage.

“Hello, Hank. This is Eddie Pickman.”

“Do you realize it’s not even seven?” Professor Armitage hadn’t had his coffee yet and was grouchy in consequence.

“There’s a shoggoth on our roof.”

“Suuure, there is.”

“No, really,” said Mr. Pickman. “I’ll show you.” He went back outside and took a picture of the shoggoth and emailed it to Professor Armitage.

“Well I’ll be jiggered,” said Professor Armitage after looking at the picture. “But why are you calling me? Why not call 9-1-1?”

“I did,” said Mr. Pickman. “They cachinnated maniacally and hung up.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Professor Armitage. “Meet me at the library in half an hour.”

So Mr. Pickman and Howard got dressed and left their house. They walked north up Parsonage Street, turned left at the Witch House and walked along College Street for few blocks, then turned right and crossed the coed-haunted campus of Miskatonic University to the Ephraim Waite Library. There they found Professor Armitage.

“What do you want me to do, Eddie?” asked the professor.

“Get the shoggoth OFF our roof.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Well, who does?”

“Shoggoths come from Antarctica, don’t they? I’ll call Professor Dyer. He’s been there.” Professor Armitage took out his phone. Then he hesitated.

“The problem is, the professor is a little touchy about shoggoths. Mention them to him and he flies into a passion and then starts to cachinnate like a maniac. Still, maybe this is one of his good days…” And he called Professor Dyer.

“Hello, Bill? This is Hank Armitage. A friend of mine has a problem: he has a shoggoth on his roof and I was wondering —”

“A shoggoth on his roof?” replied Professor Dyer, flying into a passion. “Well, that’s just peachy! I warned the Starkweather-Moore expedition, but did they listen? Oh, nooooo! They just had to go to Antarctica and poke around! So of course they found a shoggoth and they brought it back with them and it’s escaped! I hope they’re happy now! Ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA —”

Professor Armitage quickly ended the call. “It’s not one of his good days. We’ll have to do this on our own.”

“Why can’t we call the Starkweather-Moore people?” asked Mr. Pickman.

“They went deep-sea diving in the Pacific last year and never came back,” replied Professor Armitage. “Let’s go to the Forbidden Books Room.”

So they went to the Forbidden Books Room. Professor Armitage turned off the alarms, locked the trapdoor over the deadfall, and disconnected the trigger to the nets hanging overhead.

“We’ve had to be careful,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe how many cultists try to sneak in… Oh my goodness! I almost forgot the tear gas.”

He unlocked the iron bars that protected the bookshelves and took out a huge, musty, worm-eaten tome. “Let’s see what the Necronomicon has to say.”

Time passed.

“No good,” said the professor, returning the Necronomicon to its place. “Let’s try the Liber Ivonis.”

But that was no good either; nor were the Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, Ludvig Prinn’s De Vermis Mysteriis, and the Pnakotic Manuscript.

“If all else fails, we can try Wikipedia,” said Professor Armitage, poking about the shelves.

Mr. Pickman and Howard both groaned.

“Wait!” cried the professor. “What’s this?” And he took down a huge, musty, yellow-and-black tome. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?” He showed it to them. On the cover were the words De Loquendi Linguam Shoggothum pro Stultis.

“What does it mean?” asked Howard.

“Roughly translated, Speaking Shoggoth for Dummies,” replied Professor Armitage. “Let’s go.”

They returned to 13 Parsonage Street, Professor Armitage reading as they went along. The shoggoth was still on the roof.

“Fweet!” whistled the professor. “That’s ‘Hello,’” he said aside to Howard and Mr. Pickman.

“Fweet! Fweet!” whistled the shoggoth in reply. (“Hello yourself.”)

“Tweet-twee.” (“Will you get off the roof?”)

“Twee-twee-fweet.” (“Why the hell should I?”)

“Fweet-TWEE-tweet.” (“Get off or else!”)

“FWEET-fweet-FWEET-fweet.” (“Oh, yeah? Go ahead and try. I’ll suck your head off!”)

The shoggoth grew a couple of tentacles and extended them downward.

The professor ostentatiously patted one of his pockets.

“TWEEEEEEET!” he whistled (“I’ve got an Elder Sign and I’m not afraid to use it!”)

The shoggoth withdrew the tentacles, grew a mouth, and smiled ruefully.

“Fwee-fweet-fweet-tweet,” it replied. (“All right, let’s not get hasty and do something we’ll both regret.”)

“Fweet-fweet-tweet-tweet-TWEE-fwee-burble.” The shoggoth came down from the roof and grew a hand and proffered it to Professor Armitage. He took it and the two walked and slithered hand-in-hand out to Parsonage Street. They turned right and went along until they came to the Miskatonic River. The shoggoth oozed down the bank, waved goodbye, and plunged into the ebon waters.

“What did you say?” asked Howard.

“I suggested it would be much happier in the fish-haunted Miskatonic… Let’s go find someplace to eat. I haven’t had any breakfast.”

“Come back to our place,” said Mr. Pickman. So they went back to the Pickman house, where Asenath scrambled the highly-flavored eggs of the rumored Shantak-bird for all of them and Keziah complained that they’d let her sleep through all the excitement and Howard gave her a kick under the table.

THE END

Posted by Bob the Ape 5:43 PM