rayaso

Once you’ve been to Hell, there’s no way back, especially if you’re the monster Cthulhu. His true home was inside the brain of H. P. Lovecraft, who wrote him into existence in 1928, but then died only nine years later. Like all fictional monsters, he was cast into the Tenth Circle of Hell on the death of his author.

The traditional Nine Circles held the souls of people who committed deadly sins, but the Tenth Circle held literary monsters, condemned to wander lost in the Great Labyrinth in a shadowy existence. Since they never had souls, they could not go to Heaven or even Purgatory, but at least they could not be tortured like the others, and this always bothered Satan.

“If I have to house them,” he complained to Archangel Michael, “I should get to torment them. It’s only fair.”

Since anything that added to Satan’s burden was met with favor, his repeated pleas were happily rejected.

It was not that much of an inconvenience for Satan, because the occupants of the Labyrinth were not permanent guests and they were fairly well-behaved compared to the truly damned.

Even if their authors had been admitted to Heaven, which was rare among writers, Cthulhu and the others would wander the Labyrinth until no book survived with their stories and no one remembered them. When this happened, these former terrors of mankind were Gone and they no longer existed, even in the Labyrinth.

Satan hated the day-to-day running of Hell; he preferred tempting humans into eternal damnation. The administration of the underworld was left to a variety of demons who, over the eons, had devised a very efficient system. But that order was under assault and Satan’s attention was needed, so they called a meeting and requested the dark lord’s presence. They knew what could happen, but it was necessary.

“Never bother me again,” said Satan when he appeared on his Throne. The throne was made from damned souls who writhed at their master’s touch, the ultimate agony.

“Why is Cthulhu here?” he added, whipping the nearest demon.

“To help with a problem involving the Labyrinth,” said Baalberith, groveling before Satan.

“You called me here for those pathetic monsters?” said Satan. “You know how I feel about them.”

He increased Baalberith’s torment and returned him to the Pit.

“But it could affect all the souls under your damnation,” said Sabnock, who unfortunately replaced Baalberith as Master of the Labyrinth.

Since he had not immediately been sent to the Pit, Sabnock continued to grovel.

“Cthulhu is nearly forgotten and soon he will be Gone,” began Sabnock. “But Lovecraft’s stories are about to be digitalized by the Monster Project of the English Department at State University and placed online to be saved forever.”

“So what?” said Satan, who sharpened his claws by raking them through an unfortunate demon standing too close. After that, everyone stayed at least six feet away.

“If this happens,” said Sabnock, “his stories will never disappear, he will become immortal, and . . . .”

Satan did not like where this was headed, so he damned Sabnock to the Pit.

Subaltern Valac, the new Master, tried to continue, but he immediately followed Sabnock. Only Cthulhu was left, but since he had no soul, Satan could not torment him.

“If I live forever online, outside your control,” roared Cthulhu, “it will break the Natural Order and crack the foundation of Hell. Digitalizing inhabitants of the Labyrinth might eventually bring about Hell’s collapse and release all the souls from their torments.”

Satan loved the internet – it was one of his most effective recruiting tools – so he could not allow this to happen. He wasn’t concerned about Hell – it was eternal and no pulp fiction monster could ever be a problem. It was unthinkable.

Cthulhu, who was far more intelligent than he looked, had a suggestion. He did not want to be an immortal combination of ones and zeros. His plan was devious, and Satan loved it. He signed Cthulhu’s contract and returned to collecting politicians, the easiest of all.

The contract allowed Cthulhu to return to the world temporarily, but in human form. Gone were the tiny, useless wings, the scaly skin, and the tentacle face.


Now he looked like his creator – grim and joyless, exactly what someone who would write Cthulhu into existence would look like. But now he could carry out his mission without causing riots and a military response.


Satan released him at the nearest hellmouth, in the Admissions Office. His clothes were outdated and he smelled slightly of sulfur, but that wouldn’t be noticed as he walked across the university campus. All he needed was access to the Monster Project’s main computer.

Since the Project was housed in the English department, no one was around. Cthulhu located the computer, sat down, and after a few tries at the security code, he entered “Hamlet,” which gave him full access.

Hell had an endless supply of hackers, so it was easy to get instructions. After half an hour working in the “Cthulhu” file, he was finished. It felt odd hacking himself.

“I should have asked for real wings,” he thought, “not just these stubs. The fingers are nice, but not as terrifying as my claws.”

He saved his work, turned off the computer, and returned to the Labyrinth in time to play Marco Polo with Frankenstein and Grendel. As usual, Frankenstein lost.

The Monster Project had no funding. It was just a bunch of English majors volunteering their weekends to reproduce all the monster stories in code, one slow keystroke at a time.

Satan knew it would take a long time for them to finish even one story like “The Call of Cthulhu,” but he had an eternity to fill so waited as patiently as he could. He amused himself by tempting the students with promises of actual jobs and real dates, not just the pity kind.

When the stories were finally done and the files available online, Cthulhu disappeared from the Labyrinth in the middle of a spirited game of “hide and seek.” Frankenstein did not realize that Cthulhu was actually gone and continued to play by himself for many years.

“100111011,” Cthulhu thought, or “free at last!”

He looked around his new electronic home with all its vulnerable files, and started wreaking havoc. The hack had made him the ultimate virus, destroying everything he touched, impervious to all attempts to remove him. The Cthulhu virus would exist until the end of “0” and “1.”

The latest Master of the Labyrinth and six subalterns were vaporized for bringing Satan the news.

“That miserable Cthulhu can’t be doing this!” roared Satan, as Hell erupted in fire. “Bring me the contract!”

But deep within it was a tiny clause allowing Cthulhu total freedom while on the surface. He had assumed it meant destruction and death, a return to Cthulhu’s old ways, a brief vacation of fun until he returned to the Labyrinth. Satan was wrong.

His beloved internet was crashing and he felt Hope creep into the Labyrinth and the Circles of Hell: “If Cthulhu can escape, why can’t I?”

Deep in the Pit there was a small quiver, which only Satan felt. Up in Heaven, Archangel Michael smiled more than usual at some passing cherubs. Satan would never be able to repair the damage caused by even the smallest bit of hope and he knew that it would spread until the Gates opened, disgorging its prisoners, to what end even he could not see.

At first, Cthulhu wandered around the digital universe, doing all the damage he could and striking terror into IT departments. Electronic horror was not as satisfying as driving men mad and destroying whole cities, so he eventually became bored until he found a digital version of Frankenstein and they could continue their games of “hide and seek” again, leaving the digital world alone.

According to recent reports, Cthulhu has been trying to find a way to reincorporate and return to our world, while Satan has been trying to return him to the Labyrinth, each with no success. So far.