Liquid

February 15, 2016

By: LC Harrison

We stood in our den with the floorboards braced against the wall. In one corner on our desk was the map and our picks and shovels, and in the other corner was the glistening black liquid we thought was oil. At last, we could relax in luxury. Our first notion without hesitation was to travel home to London; the New England rocky shore in Massachusetts had always left us homesick, longing for the place where the ghosts of the past could remind us of who we really were. But, it didn't take me long to realize just how wrong we were. This strange thick liquid could be but only one thing, and it was not something we had wished to follow us here. It was happening again much to our horror, and there was no where to run now. I turned to Louis how he always seemed to know the best thing to do in his longing blue eyes, but this time those eyes that had sparkling ideas which brought us to where we now stood seemed vacant and mournful. He dropped our family talisman to the ground screaming, "We have nothing more to tribute to you, Lord Cthulu." The black liquid seemed to bubble and spread brushing just past our scuffed toes, and on from our meager den into our parlour. We hesitated to follow, but reluctantly made our way towards the door. We peered into the next room, and there he stood pointing at the painting. Cthulu's terrible figure from some other ancient age with repitilian green skin and squid like eyes, and the black claw on knotted finger would destroy the hopes of any who gazed upon him, but to us he was a familiar sight, thanks being to our parents. "You still have yourselves," screeched Cthulu. "But in this painting, there is a jewel, give me that," bellowed Cthulu. "No, the jewel is no longer with us," said Louis. "You could have summoned me, " sneered Cthulu. "No more," said Louis. "You both join me then," said Cthulu. It was our end.

End.