Chapel by the Sea

Explicit version

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents...some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new Dark Age.”

H.P. Lovecraft

A note on the text

“Never Explain Anything”

H.P. Lovecraft

This work is my most obviously Lovecraftian, not just in setting and tone, but also I deliberately borrow from the Old Masters’ use of language. I have transplanted the setting into a distinctly British one (of which I’m sure the Old Master would approve, being such a devoted Anglophile), but this work is clearly an homage. I chose a deliberately antiquated tone for the ailing professor that retells this tale of terror. I choose an abandoned coastal setting and relish in the horrors of the tentacled deep. I do of course add my own stamp to the work, human sexuality and the deep body horror that sexual obsession can bring; topics to which the Old Master was ill acquainted it would seem. Yet if the form appears a little too close to Lovecraft, please do not be put off pursuing my other work, this is a love letter to the works of Howard Philip Lovecraft, particularly his story “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” of which one might notice more than a passing resemblance (and maybe a dash of Dagon). The rest of my work takes on a very different and much more modern style. That being said, enjoy the unknowable, unrelenting, squamous, eldritch terror that lurks deep in the briny depths!

Chapter 1: Stirrings in the deep

“I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below. Do not think from my slavery to morphine that I am a weakling or a degenerate. When you have read these hastily scrawled pages you may guess, though never fully realize, why it is that I must have forgetfulness or death.”

H.P. Lovecraft, Dagon

I am writing this journal not so much as for publication but for catharsis, if indeed that is even possible at this point. Some small part of me still believes in the great power of the logical and rational mind to both reveal truth and overcome suffering. It is but a small part now, but I think it yet remains. Some might say I am ideally placed to put my confidence in human rationality. I am, after all, a scientist of prestigious reputation, having published many papers in the fields of both mathematics and ecology. My greatest work, or so I have been told, has applied advanced theories of highly unusual spatial mathematics to ecological networks, and has been published in Nature. Indeed even as I write these words I am aware of my nomination for a position in the Royal Society. A young lady, a brilliant and energetic young mind, writes to me and tells me the applications of these models could revolutionise the networks used in artificial intelligence… I shudder to think of the abominable intelligences created by this wretched work. I take another small handful of these small pink tablets, they keep the dreams away, keep me sharp, keep me safe. I should write back to her, I should warn her, I should end it here and now.

I am different from the others, indeed I am different from how I once was, my work isn’t mine. My imagination and dreams (oh the loathsome dreams) boil and roil with concepts beyond imagination. Indescribable horrors tear at my sleep, nightmare worlds not of our own. The cloying depths, the darkest voids, the awful tripartite moons, split open like a festering grin, a mark of malice and malevolence upon my broken mind.

It is from this, not logic, not reason or inference that my ‘great’ work springs. I now often find myself, in the dead of night, gripping a board marker, drenched in a sickly sweat, having drawn out equations, and other terrible signs and symbols, notation I do not comprehend, equations I cannot possibly derive. Small fractions of this work have led to my ‘great’ discoveries, again more as a release than any other motive. For a part of me wishes to leave this world of science, its pointless arguments and endless and futile desire to know. It cost me my sanity, my friends and even…even my beloved. Yet, I cannot, even medicated so thoroughly as I am now, escape the dreams and their call.

The endless maddening call.

In an effort to break the cycle I write to describe my thoughts and to detail the events that transpired over twenty years ago now. The events that led me to my current state. I can cast my mind back with ease and clarity to most of the tale, yet I hope my pen will not give out as I rarely attempt to recall the final parts. Indeed even casting my mind back to the final days in that hellish cottage and surreal alien coastline brings especially strong and turbulent dreams. Just a few more of the tablets will help, help me focus.

Twenty years ago I was a young postdoc, freshly qualified, having obtained my PhD from University College London in the field of mathematical population ecology. I had remained in London and taken up a postdoc at Imperial College. I lived comfortably with my partner Jenny in a rather small but pricey place just south of the river in Putney. She was in a similar position having just completed her PhD in Cell Biology and was pursuing industrial medical research in North London in the field of neuroscience. We were largely happy, successful and incredibly busy young professionals. Between a little bit of London social life and our busy careers we found little time for much else. It was on a fateful Friday night, so similar to many others, with our small social circle at a local pub in Putney, that this terrible journey really began.

It was a gentrified pub, full of young professionals, a few hipsters and maybe one or two London barflies who seem to appear out of the ether no matter the location. Our friends were mostly lawyers, bankers and other such types, some we knew well, others not so much. It was a pretty standard evening in many respects, except two of our close friends Sophie and her partner John had startling news. They informed us of their intent to move to Cornwall.

This was greeted with mixed reviews at first, many parties could scarcely imagine living outside of London or another large city, let alone uprooting and moving to what, from all accounts seemed to be a very remote and sheltered bay in Northern Cornwall. Initially I was one of the most positive. Sophie had completed a masters in Art History and had struggled to find meaningful employment. John worked in social care and again had been in and out of work, with government cuts and departments being shuffled around. The move was primarily driven by him finding a fairly well paid management role in rural social development through an EU program. As a career move for him it was a massive development. I applauded his hard work and determination to find something he believed in that could really help people and probed with some further questions. Sophie was hoping to find something to do out there, she seemed hopeful at this stage at least. As an added bonus they had already found a house. John had some rather, how to say, archaic connections, his father was heavily involved in the Church of England, something to do with their huge property empire.

As it turned out the Church owned a run down old property attached to a disused chapel, and due to John’s connections, were willing to sell it at a truly unbelievable price. As soon as this came to light, the group’s opinion turned and my few questions were overwhelmed by everyone else pitching in to offer property advice. The discussion turned to how they would patch it up, how long to hold onto for and all the would-be property developers at the table agreed that a quick turnaround would net Sophie and John a small fortune. It was soon the general consensus that the move was indeed a great idea. Sophie was quick to add that after their initial settling in time that visitors would be more than welcome, and able to stay on site with them as they would have loads of room. This of course brought another round of well meaning praise. I’m sure everyone felt very happy for the couple and of course slightly smug that they now had a potential cheap UK holiday destination available. As conversation slowed I pressed Sophie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, on the reason behind the low price.

“Oh other than the poor state of some of the buildings, I assume it’s because the village that was once there has all but shut down. It really is very remote.”

“Ah I see, it must have been a fishing village, I suppose. When that dried up, there were quite a few villages and towns in that area that got hit pretty hard.”

At this point I think I launched into one of my monologues about the dangers of overfishing and further talk about the house was put aside.

It was about a week after that they left. Goodbyes were had at a little place just around the corner from Sophie and John’s place. We were duly promised emails, Facebook updates and messages to let us know their progress.

Then they were gone, off to the remote village of Penssirith, to their new life and new home. Sadly the wonders of the internet had yet to make it to what remained of Penssirith. We received the first email about three weeks, or maybe a month after their move. I consider it important to reproduce it in its entirety. Ah, here it is, still saved on my old laptop:

Hi guys!

Sorry we haven’t sent a message sooner, it really is pretty backwater out here, so I had to drive all the way into town (about an hour or so!... eep!) and find an internet cafe (yeah, I know who uses these anymore…apparently country types like us). Overall, its going pretty well, we stayed with some of Johns Church friends for the first week or so (scary!), but they were really nice. Lots of work to do on the place obviously. It turns out the house is literally going to be the old chapel itself once the work is done. We have moved in now but honestly it still looks a bit like a bomb shelter. Work is proceeding well, good news its all fixings and interiors and windows and insulation and stuff the actual structure is super solid. We also want to keep some of the old features and decorations and stuff as its a really unique style. Some of them are so unique and absolutely are not CofE. I suppose its the Cornish pagan influence down here, but even after a few Google searches I haven’t found anything remotely similar, I’m definitely interested now and will continue my research. As we mentioned the rest of the village has all but gone, so its really just us down here.

The scenery is absolutely stunning, well it would be if it wasn’t for the crappy weather. (sigh!). I know it’s been bad pretty much everywhere recently, but the storm was so bad down here I thought the roof was going to come off! The interesting news is once it went down there was this crazy low tide and we could see large parts of an old wooden ship right in the bay. I’m going to ask around and check some newspaper archives as we might well have a shipwreck of note right in our back garden (exciting!).

So yeah, come down and see me! John is super busy with work and driving around most of the time visiting different places. So, I imagine I might get pretty bored after the initial work dies down. Also I’m trying to get the garden going, as for me there is absolutely no luck on the job front. Doing lots of cooking and housewifey things too, amazing local seafood down here. Hope to see you all soon, send lots of messages!

Love, Soph x

P.S. I included some pics, see the attachments if you haven’t already clicked on them! Oh and Mark, check out the critters we found down by the beach.

As I recall I had already clicked on at least one of the images. Upon opening (things took time to load those days) the crystal clear digital image immediately consumed my entire attention. The scene was pretty, not awesome, not stunningly beautiful, just quaint. An easy bay, with some rocks in the background, sea gently foaming in the distance, yet right in the centre stood the old chapel, some of which was obscured by building work, yet the angle chosen permitted most to be seen. At a glance it seemed normal and parochial, but even with this first impression it left me with a peculiar and disturbing feeling. I stared at it for a while but was unable to place what was strange about the image.

I flicked through the other images until I arrived at the one labelled “sea critters…Mark?” Obviously she wanted me to have a go at identifying them, afterall my Masters was in Marine Ecology and I had worked part time at the Natural History Museum as a guide at one point. In fact my Masters project at St Andrews was concerning marine invertebrates, so I was pretty well placed to have a go. The picture was of some considerable interest to me, even if my PhD and current work had moved on to other areas.

Upon opening the image I was greeted with a bucket full of marine inverts, all writhing and wriggling away in the salt water. I assume she had gathered them at the time of the very low tide.

The first thing that struck me was that most were vermiform, which is peculiar, and they looked benthic rather than shoreline. Now as I looked closer, I was stunned, I was unable to identify even a single species. I examined the image for some time and burst into a flurry of activity, searching the internet for images and consulting my own identification guides and keys (I only had the Collins guide and a few other simple texts to hand), yet none were common or obviously identifiable. Indeed, there were some animals of such unusual hue and possessing strange feeding appendages (reminiscent of the tentacles of cephalopoda) that defied any simple form of classification. That there were new species; in this bucket I could no longer doubt. The thought of a visit immediately became much more pressing to me; indeed it seemed that rather than just a handful of new species, there was an entirely new ecosystem flourishing in this remote Cornish bay!

I immediately rushed to get Jenny! In my excited state I hastily showed her all of the pictures and explained my theory that there was a brand new undiscovered ecosystem. All my previous thoughts about the strangeness of the chapel were foolishly washed away. She listened to my excited chatter patiently, not captured by the images and ideas in the same way that I was. Once I had finished, she was very quick to remind me that it was only a single image after all and not nearly enough evidence in order to jump to such wild conclusions. She suggested that I write a nice email back and that maybe they would invite us down. After all, she said, there can’t be that much to do down there.

I hastily set about composing a chirpy reply email, filled with praise and admiration. Indeed just as Jenny had predicted, it did not take long for their response, and it included an invite to come down and stay with them. I was ecstatic; furthermore, Sophie included yet more photographs of bizarre strangely coloured bivalves and large amphipod crustaceans. All of the specimens were novel in some small way. The crustacea seemed to have one too many joints in their limbs and the bi valves gave off a strange pale aura of phosphorescence, I had only ever seen in certain abyssal fish.

By now, Jenny was at least sure that I would discover something of interest, yet was still unconvinced by the overall merit.

You see Jenny had always the eye for the applied and practical. She wanted to gain knowledge and understanding not for its own sake, for the love of learning, but to help people, to cure disease and aid the community. In this respect, I was not oblivious, but nevertheless, I was overwhelmed by the sheer joy of discovery. I dreamed of at least a single Nature paper if not several describing this new ecosystem and of course the admiration and respect of my peers.

Sophie also included some other more obscure facts in her email, notes that these animals were getting more common, the fact that they had rented out some part of their land and had to hold sheep, the peculiar weather and the strange objects they found in the basement of the chapel were, at the time, all of little importance to me. I was far too obsessed with planning our trip. I assembled as much basic scientific equipment as I could. A laptop with plenty of memory and a good few ID guides already downloaded, collecting tubes, plastic sampling bags, latex gloves, a digital camera (as my sketching had never been a particular strong point) were all stuffed into bags.

I had to borrow some equipment from university, but as it was all in the interest of science I’m sure it would be little matter. I took a small dissecting microscope and some petri dishes from the undergraduate labs as well as some lab alcohol and staining equipment. I was now confident I could fully study and describe a large number of these creatures, at least in a preliminary sense and produce a descriptive paper that would make my name as a scientist.

In addition I packed a full set of SCUBA gear for myself and snorkelling equipment for Jenny. Yes it would be cold, but we had thick semi dry wetsuits so if needed I could explore the ruins of the ship that Sophie was now so excited to talk about. There might be types of reef dwelling life that would live on the artificial reef that was the boat, too valuable an opportunity to miss!

The journey down was uneventful, but not boring. By now Jenny was also excited by the prospect of the visit. This was mainly due to the opportunity for a long weekend free from work, it was also due to my own growing excitement and anticipation, that had now leaked out and infected her as well.

As I mentioned there was nothing of great significance that occurred for most of the journey. I shall not dwell on the small sites, and petty conversation that we engage with. For my mind was completely consumed by our destination, and the potential to revolutionise my scientific career. I did not know how true this would be. The things that I saw, felt and experienced, have changed my life forever. Dreams, nightmares of strange shapes and forms, as well as the ever present crawling creatures of the deep will not leave my mind.

Much later that day we arrived down in Cornwall. I don’t know if you have ever been down to the far reaches of our islands, but it is a strange and unusual place. It is an often told joke that the people in Cornwall are an inbred, and queer folk. I had always placed these simple rumours down to the fact that they had a Gaelic culture that was still present in some aspects. Indeed, I had a friend of mine who in his youth was part of the Cornish Liberation Front (CLF), and would go around painting out the street signs in English and replacing them with the Cornish language.

Such activity breeds rumours like no other. The fact that they are fiercely independent people, geographically isolated, with a unique cultural identity, does not necessarily mean that there is anything strange going on. Or so I thought.

Yet as we passed quiet sleepy village, after quiet sleepy village, the roads ever becoming narrower, and quieter. There was an ever present sense of dread, not just that the population was falling, not just that the language and culture here was dying, but something darker as I could not put my fingers upon.

As we grew deeper and deeper into the county, towards our destination, the satellite navigation system that we were using became less and less reliable. In one small village I believe it was called Pendorn, we had to stop and ask for directions.

I had never had a fear of meeting people and asking for help, (even though this is so common amongst men). So I pulled over the car, got out, still enthusiastic, and rushed into the nearest public house. The place was dark and slightly smoky, with their almost indescribable briny smell. Of the bar man, there was no sign, only an old priest sitting in the corner nursing a pint of warm bitter Cornish ale.

He had an old, and weatherbeaten countenance, with long gnarled fingers, that tightly gripped the glass as though it was something very dear to him.

Still fearless at this point, I approached the man,

“Sir, sorry to trouble you, do you know the way to Penssirth. See we are a little bit lost.”

The man looked up at me and spoke with a thick Cornish accent, which made it very difficult for me to determine what he was actually saying. But the key message was unbelievably clear,

“You are not from around here are you?”

Slightly taken aback, by the rude response, (even though my expectations from men of God, were not very high, being a stalwart Dawkinesque atheist at the time), I reverted to my upper middle class British manners, and apologised profusely for disturbing the man.

He sat in silence for a moment and I turned to leave before he started up still gripping the pint glass with both hands as he lurched slightly towards me.

“What are you doing there? Why do you need to go there? There isn’t anything there for anyone!”

I was shocked and stumbled back towards the door. I looked into the man’s eyes before I turned and fled and there was no anger there, rather a deep and abiding sadness well up from those lights, the eyes of a broken man.

I remember as I left feeling a great sense of sadness and compassion I did not tell Jenny of what happened there, because she would’ve been scared, and judgemental. What I saw at the time was a poor shepherd, who in the course of rural decline, had lost all of his flock. The collapse of small villages in this part of the world was well documented. The human element of having priests left behind in empty parishes had never occurred to me before. The pubs, and post offices may have gone, but the chapels and churches would not. Even though I saw nothing good in religion, at the time I was moved by seeing a man like this.

All of these thoughts and feelings are true, but there are darker things in the world than the decline of rural villages. Sometimes people do not leave because of opportunity, instead they flee in terror. And, a genuine warning not to go to that place was left unheeded.

I arrived back in the car, quickly told Jenny some lie that I had been given detailed instructions, and proceeded to drive deeper into the countryside, still shaken by the experience.

As it turned out, we were close. A few choice turns down small and forgotten lanes, partially overgrown by gnarled salty trees, their roots all twisted and fused together, lead us to a weathered and beaten sign for the village.

I did not really register at the time, but there was extensive graffiti on some of the local signs. I assumed that the language was Cornish, and that it was CLF activity, replacing the English signs with Cornish ones.

It was not until we had been there for a while that I learned this language was not Cornish.

Nevertheless, even with all of these slightly worrying signs, we were delighted to finally arrive. As the lane turned, it opened into that imposing yet parochial bay. With that terrible chapel sitting solidly in the middle of our view.

Chapter 2: A house of consumption

“A thirty-two-ounce soda and a tank of gas is America distilled to its seminal fluids.”

Richard Manning

Attempts to call Sophie or John, in advance of our arrival, had been fruitless. There was virtually no satellite signal, down in these parts. As such, they were nowhere to be seen. We drove up to the chapel, and parked in the substantial driveway.

Jenny was very excited to see the inside of the chapel, and was convinced that they would make a significant return on the work. Such trivial concerns did not interest me. I was much more interested in getting down to the bay.

We got out of the car, and walked around the chapel, it was the first time that I had seen it up close. It was a strange building, clearly old, a flint Norman church originally. Yet there has clearly been work done upon it in stages. The tower had been rebuilt at a later time and also the decorative finishes, and Gothic style buttressing had clearly been added at a later date. It was larger than I had expected, from the photographs. The peculiar mix of styles was accentuated even further, by the relief that neither of us had seen before on the south facing wall. It was a vista of marine life, squids, fish and all other manner of aquatic organisms were engraved on the wall. I could not help but notice that among them included some of the strange creatures that I had seen in Sophie’s photographs. Bizarre benthic invertebrates were only a minor part of the relief, yet I had never seen anything like them portrayed in art before. It also had a strange sexual overtone, for in the centre of the relief was a ship’s bow, with a woman, gazing longingly out into the marine life. It conjured up strange and alarming images of Japanese woodworking, where women and octopi were joined together. I stood there spellbound, captured by the blessed darkness and twisted beauty of such a thing.

Suddenly I was snapped from my reverie, by a call from Sophie. She walked over a nearby rise, with the boiling sea behind her, and for a moment it was as if she had merged with the image.

She led a small number of sheep, as she had told us that she had acquired for the land.

Jenny glanced at me angry, believing that my staring was the height of rudeness.

“Oh so nice to see you, it is simply lovely down here”, she said, Sophie interrupted her (as she often did),

“Oh I’m so glad you made it, you should have called in advance.”

“No problem Sophie, we got a little lost, but this idiot eventually did find his way.”

“Say hello to my sheep! I’ve just been taking them out to graze down by the beach.”

She was indeed surrounded by a small noisy and energetic flock of sheep. They had thick mats of curly hair, even thicker than regular sheep, forming long ringlets that covered their eyes similar to Angus cattle. They were Devon & Cornish Longwool if I wasn’t mistaken, a rare local breed.

“Oh Mark, you’ll like this, I found even more of those strange little creatures, they’re crawling all over the rock pools down there. I’m quite tempted to do a bit of foraging, the crabs I imagine would be lovely.”

She seemed very excited to see us, so much so that she was basically stumbling over her words. When she first sent us the messages, and when she talked to me about leaving, she seemed solemn, even depressed. Now she was transformed, alight with passion for life. Glowing and radiant in the falling light now cast over the bay.

She greeted us, and in a world of excitement, we were brought with all of our bags, into the chapel. There was still some work being done but the vast majority had been completed, at least in the living room and bedrooms. It was spacious, but not bright. They had kept many of the stained-glass windows, and the eerie and almost slightly greenish light filled the living room.

Again, I did not notice it at that time, but engraved on the mantelpiece were yet more of the strange benthic creatures.

Sophie set about preparing a meal, she was very proud of the fact that she only used locally sourced and home-grown ingredients. Given that she had very little to do here, now that most of the work has been completed, she had set about becoming an industrious homemaker.

As she was preparing food, we noted that John had still not returned. Concerned, we asked after him.

Dinner and a show

“We loved with a love that was more than love.”

Edgar Allen Poe

We finally heard Jon’s car pulling up just in time for dinner. Sophie was still busy in the kitchen. She said it was fish pie today, alongside a Cornish crab starter. Honestly it sounded amazing and by all accounts she had thrown herself into domestic life with wild abandon. Cooking, baking, shopping, cleaning, meeting the locals, working on the house, even taking that extra job as a shepherdess looking after that small herd of local sheep she kept on the chapel’s land and also let roam down at the cove on the beach.

Sophie went out to meet him, he was a tall thin man, but looked a little haggard, slightly stretched out or brittle even. He was starting to get deep lines in his face. He looked tired getting out of the car, unfurling himself slowly from the driver’s seat. That was until he saw Sophie and his eyes lit up and he cracked open a huge grin. They ran together for a big hug and a huge kiss. A snog probably is the more appropriate and fully British term.

“Missed you loads today!”

“Missed you too, good day at work?”

“Long day again, lots of driving, lots of meetings all over. Good stuff though. How are you? Not too lonely?”

“I’m never lonely as I get to see you everyday Jon. We are connected you and I, even if you are not with me, I feel you, inside me.”

“Awwww love you Soph.”

“Plus! Mark and Jenny arrived today, they have just been unpacking.”

“Oh great, better come say hi then.”

They walked back in the shadow of the chapel, holding hands, joined together.

The first meal

“Once you have eaten of his bread and salt, you have the guest right, and the laws of hospitality protect you beneath his roof,”

George RR Martin

It didn’t take Sophie long with Jon’s help to serve up a truly impressive meal. She had definitely been busy. As she had foreshadowed earlier the starter was a dressed cornish crab. They were exceptionally large and fat, dressed fully and all were large females swollen from their tomalley. I marvelled at the size, it was rare to find such massive ones these days with the rampant overfishing around the United Kingdom.

“Wow Sophie these must have cost a fortune, to get so many large females. Hand picked no less, you must have had to fight off the guys from the local restaurants or get there super early in the morning.”

“Oh no actually they are very reasonable and the local fishmonger Geogre, he knows me now and he always saves me some of the best stuff. He’s getting on a bit but is really a very lovely man, very thoughtful.”

Now truth be told, while I loved to study the oceans and was fascinated by sea creatures, the thought of eating them was only somewhat appealing. I picked at the crab, as the brown meat and the eggs, especially the rich fatty and pungent eggs held no interest to me.

It seemed as though Jon was of a similar mind, he went back for several cups of tea but had barely touched his crab. He seemed tired from work and only passingly engaged in conversation with the group, only occasionally lighting up to speak lovingly to his wife. The work was obviously draining to him, but you could see how devoted he was to Sophie.

The ladies held no such compunction and devoured their entire crabs alongside the richly buttered toast that accompanied the starter. Sophie then started picking at Jons and I could feel Jen’s eyes upon my own plate, and her thoughts ‘it’s rude to leave food she worked so hard on.’ So, I silently switched the plates and she also consumed the remainder of my crab.

The next course appeared as swiftly as the first was gone. A monstrous fish pie came steaming out of the oven. While its appearance at first was definitely appetising, it had been finished beautifully and was crisp golden brown on top, lightly graced with a fine cheese and seasoned perfectly, once it was cut the smell struck me.

As the heaping mounds of potatoes, cream sauce and all manner of sea creatures were ladled upon my plate the scents of the ocean assailed my nostrils. This was bizarre, not the subtle appetising scent of cooked fish, but almost the raw stench of a fishmonger, the smell was out of place for what lay before me.

As I investigated my meal, I observed both the usual fish pie ingredients; salmon, a white fish like cod or pollack and a smoked fish like haddock, but also many other varieties, a flatfish like hake, maybe a ray like skate or even shark like the starry smoothhound often called “rock salmon”, prawns and numerous other offcuts from filleting of all sorts of fish.

The fact that skate and shark were included upset me immediately, these were locally endangered fish, slow to reproduce and should never just be thrown in wholesale with a bunch of other unnamed fish. I bit my tongue for once, thinking of the terrible reprimand I would get from Jen if I launched into one of my sustainable fishing rants on my first night as a guest here.

I ate around the offending species and helped myself to more potatoes and vegetables. All the while the overpowering scent of seafood continued to assail me. Similar to Jon I requested another tea which certainly calmed my nerves and settled my stomach.

The second course proceeded in virtual silence, with the ladies attention focussed entirely upon eating and neither Jon nor myself much in the mood for conversation.

I had managed to eat quite a bit by picking around things and the ladies had devoured what seconds or in Sophie’s case, thirds I think.

Jon disappeared and materialised with a few bottles of local cornish ale about half way through which I was more than grateful for. It was a rich and heady brew both strong and bitter, served at room temperature, refreshingly British if not that refreshing. Both of us knocked back at least two large bottles and I relaxed quite a bit.

The ladies cleared the plates whilst still picking at the leftovers and the evening settled down. While the food was not to my fondness, the company and the setting more than made up for it. I was pleased to be here and Jen looked very happy too, for once.

Midnight feast

“The goddess called Tlazolteotl is a goddess who presides over filth. She is the mother of the gods and the mother of humankind… When a person confesses a sin to her, she eats it, and thus the sin is gone.”

“Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain,” Book 10, Chapter 29, translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Charles E. Dibble

(OPTIONAL AS THIS SECTION IS MAXIMUM SPICY!)

I would not normally recount such intimate details and in full honesty it was not as if this type of evening, and indeed all of the night, was normal behaviour for either myself or Jenny. I recount only this section as the behaviour was on reflection so unusual for the both of us. It was as if the very place had seized us both with some terrible animalistic and carnal drive. We were possessed and at the time I thought I knew the reason, however, now I see all too clearly what lay behind the madness, the madness in that house of consumption.

(OPTIONAL AS THIS SECTION IS MAXIMUM SPICY!)

Jenny slid over to me and ran her hand down my inner thigh.

“Let’s turn in honey.”

“It’s a bit early isn’t it?”

She looked straight at me, “I will make it worth your while.”

“Oh really, that’s unusual! But appreciated. Are you in the mood then?”

“More than just a mood, can’t wait to eat you up.” I immediately feigned a yawn.

“Oh man, I’m so tired from all the driving, I think I might go to bed. You coming Jen? Goodnight Sophie.”

We pushed through the bedroom door together, wrapped in each other’s arms. For once it was passionate again, just like when we first met at Imperial, in halls. I couldn’t keep her off me, not that I wanted to that night. She kissed me fiercely, almost sucking at my face.

She was breathless, hungry.

“You taste amazing. I don’t tell you enough how much I want you.”

Her excitement and lust were infectious, I was completely consumed by it as well.

I was getting ready to gently put her down on the bed, for our standard 15 minutes in two positions, when she pulled my trousers down and took me in her mouth.

This was not just the occasional gentle but seductive birthday blowjob. This was wild, she was devouring me, hard, fast and deep, so deep. There were noises, there were never normally noises. I had never experienced anything like that, I didn’t realise she was capable of this. I wouldn’t last long, she felt it too.

She pulled back.

“I want you to finish in my mouth. I want to taste you tonight.”

I was shocked, she never normally did that. She was borderline OCD, a tidy biochemist and obsessed with personal hygiene.

She went back at it harder than before, deep, rough. I felt the back of her throat and that was all it took. I grabbed her head and came hard, deep down her oesophagus, she didn’t move an inch, eager to drink it all. Who was this woman? And why didn’t she make an appearance years earlier?

She pulled back and took her time, licking and sucking, making sure she got every drop.

“Mmmmmmm delicious. I should do this more often, a nice midnight snack.”

I didn’t lose my erection and she was far from finished as well. It was my turn.

“Jesus Chirst Jen, I need to fuck you now, I fucking love this.”

I pushed her down on the side of the bed and entered her hard and deep, she was ready, soaking wet and no foreplay was needed. I went at her furiously, hard and long. Her eyes were wild, she came right away and then rebounded right into another one, eyes locked on mine, staring at me like a ravenous animal. As I got tired and started to drip sweat she beckoned me to lie down. To my great surprise she hopped right on top. Jenny started slow at first and leaned in, I was dripping with sweat and she started to lick my sweat slowly as moved rhythmically on top of me. She started to pick up the pace and the shivering of hips came again, she didn’t stop but pushed on right through her own orgasm. I helped her with my hands, pushing her up and down like a sex toy, faster and faster. I finished the second time deep inside her.

She slid off, eyes still wide and wild. Jen was petite and could easily nestle into my armpit. Her legs were still twitching a little bit, aftershocks from the earthquakes earlier. She never stopped looking right at me.

“That was amazing Jen, where the fuck did that come from?”

“I don’t know Marky, the crazy thing is I’m still buzzing now. I don’t know what it is.”

She leaned up and back, took a huge sniff of my sweaty armpit and shuddered.

“I think I’ve unlocked a new kink! I’ve never felt like this, it never felt like this before babe. It’s like I’m starving for you, the smell, the taste. It’s right up in my brain, deep inside my skull. I want more of you.”

“Wow fucking hell.”

She winked and smiled at me, then grabbed me and kissed me so hard, again sucking and slurping on my tongue.

After a few minutes of that she pulled away. Then stopped and looked right at me.

“I want to try something.”

“Ummm ok sure.”

She turned in towards me and took another huge breath deep from my armpit. At the same time she was touching herself. This wasn’t lightly, as I had sometimes found her, looking at her phone and delicately rubbing away. No, this was fast and furious, rubbing all my cum and her juices all over her clit.

She went in again, burying her whole face in my sweaty hairy armpit and started to lick me, fiercely like a dog. She paused for a second.

“Oh fuck! I’m going to cum again!!!”

I pushed her head back down into my armpit, gripping the back of her skull with one hand and stroking myself furiously with the other.

“Don’t you stop, you horny bitch! Dont you fucking stop!!”

“Ummmmmm” I didn’t hear the reply

She came harder than before, I could feel her whole body kicking. I was nearly ready, but tonight my wild woman didn’t need to be asked, she wanted to consume every one of my fluids. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head away then down onto my cock. I forced her down hard at the same time kicking my hips up and face fucked her brutally. I had never done anything like this, we were both possessed by some animalistic spirit that night. It was rough and brutal, intense and raw.

I lasted only seconds. She drank it all again, sucking and slurping greedily. Her tongue flickered around my balls, like she wanted to get to them, crack them open and eat every last drop inside me. She pulled away with a huge gasp and massive smile.

“Delicious” She wiped her face and stared at me. “Holy shit, I’m still, I’m still horny.”

She sat back on the bed and drove her fingers inside her sperm filled cunt. She pulled out the fluids, mine and hers all mixed and scooped it out, before drinking it down.

“I could drink every drop of you.”

“Holy fucking christ Jenny, you horny slut, you hungry fucking bitch. Kiss me, kiss me, let me taste it too!”

She kissed me and the taste of both of us together hit me like lightning. Just as she said, something in my brain was on fire, it was like no taste or smell on this earth.

She pulled away breathing hard.

“Is this our fucking thing babe? Have we found our thing?”

“Jesus, who would have thought it would be this, all sweaty, snowballing, messy play, fuuuck.”

“Yeah I think it is. Oh my god. I’m like borderline OCD, but yes, yes it’s turning me on so much. Dont you dare fucking shower tomorrow ok, I want to smell your raw, manly scent ok!!”

“Umm ok, sure ok! Wow!”

She didn’t stop staring at me or touching herself the whole time.

“You got another one in you?”

“Really oh my god, I mean maybe, if you can help me out a little…”

I didn’t even finish speaking and she was licking and sucking my balls.

“Oh wow shit, that’s great, yes! My fucking balls, I’ve never had this, oh my god Jen!”

I most definitely had another one in me, a long sweaty slow round. Her tongue danced on my body while her dripping wet pussy was overflowing like a stream. We didn’t get much sleep that night.

After what seemed like hours of slow and sweaty sex I collapsed, exhausted. As I drifted off I swear she was still playing with herself, sniffing me, her fingers still rubbing and tapping and moistly slapping away. I finally drifted away into a deep dreamless sleep, maybe for an hour or two.

(OPTIONAL SPICY SECTION COMPLETE!)

Morning after meal

“I have hated fish and feared the sea and everything connected with it since I was two years old.”

Howard Philip Lovecraft

I have no idea how she managed it just Jenny was up early, downstairs, helping Sophie with breakfast. I stumbled downstairs in a daze, admittedly a happy daze, but still, exhausted. As soon as I was in the kitchen Jenny ambushed me.

“Morning gorgeous!” She jumped up into my arms for a cuddle and I nearly dropped her.

Sophie laughed “You two had fun last night I hear.” I took a long hard look at Jenny, that wasn’t like her either.

“Oh really Jenny”

“Oh she would hear anyway.” She giggled

“We cooked up a big breakfast.” Sophie laughed again “Stud”

“Oh Jesus you two are animals, calm it down! What is it, something in the water down here?”

“Oh just fresh sea air, no stress and good wholesome food.”

“And handsome men!” Jenny jumped in and kissed me, beaming. I thought I could definitely get used to this.

“Where is Jon?”

Sophie grinned and winked. Jenny laughed this time.

“Also recovering.”

“Oh my God ladies. Is it going to be like this all weekend? My back will pack up.”

Jenny finally hopped off. “I hope not!” Still got walks, snorkeling or diving too. I’m super excited! Keep that lower back in good shape!”

“Sit yourself down and tuck in to this. A traditional full Cornish breakfast. All the trimmings but kippers are the main event.”

“Fish for breakfast Sophie?” I objected and the smell suddenly hit me, it was overwhelming. And I wasn’t ready for kippers with all of two hours kip.

“Oh give it a try Marky. Don’t be boring like your Dad.”

“Oh yeah?” Sophie chimed in.

“Same bowl of cornflakes every day of his life.”

“Oh yawn. Variety is the spice of life Mark.” Sophie dropped down huge heaped plates, scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, black pudding and of course the bright yellow pungent fish at the centre of each plate. Toast with heavy cornish butter. The eggs were made with cornish cream and more butter, the bacon was thick cut. Beans and mushrooms plated up in bowls for you to help yourself too. Even the leftover heated up fish pie made an appearance. It was another feast.

“Oh wow ladies, so much work, thank you.” My stomach wasn’t ready for this at all, I dreaded having to fight my way through it. I gently sipped a tea that had also appeared in my hand during this process.

Jenny and Sophie dived right in without another word.

“Ummm girls, shouldn’t we wait for Jon?”

Sophie barely stopped inhaling her food.

“Oh he won’t be up for hours, lazy bastard. Not like your one Jen, he takes his time to recover in the morning.” She paused to take a huge bite of a sausage.”Puts in the hours at night though!”

“Hahahaha Soph stop! Lucky ladies us, right!”

They laughed and went straight back to eating, seemingly ravenous.

All of a sudden the idea formed in my mind, a bolt from the blue. Oh my god. They are probably both pregnant. I didn’t say anything, just watched the two females in awe. That’s got to be it! The hormonal changes, the appetite, changes in taste and smell, the ummm drive. We were trying and I assume that Jon and Sophie were. We hadn’t discovered some long lost shared kink, she’s just finally got knocked up. It’s all a hormone thing.

I remember being so happy at the thought. As a biologist the experience was also enlightening, clearly an evolutionary adapted strategy, increased arousal and attachment to your partner would lead to better pair bonding, when it mattered most. Lucky ladies indeed, just not in the way they think.

I tried in vain to eat my mountain of food but couldn’t bring myself to. I gingerly sipped my tea and picked at my eggs a bit. They were fantastic but my stomach was roiling. Watching and listening to the noises of those two women sucking down their huge plates of food also made me nauseous. I subtly dropped the kipper in the bin as I went to get a glass of water and excused myself.

I never really cared for seafood, I liked working with marine animals, not eating them. It seemed like it was going to be a fun, tiring and above all hungry long weekend.

The walk

“Certainly, the terror of a deserted house swells in geometrical rather than arithmetical progression as houses multiply to form a city of stark desolation. The sight of such endless avenues of fishy-eyed vacancy and death, and the thought of such linked infinities of black, brooding compartments given over to cob-webs and memories and the conqueror worm, start up vestigial fears and aversions that not even the stoutest philosophy can disperse.”

H.P. Lovecraft, The Shadow over Innsmouth

It was a little windy lane that curved seductively past the bay and down, round and over and under, a brisk walk to the village.

Sophie was striding ahead with her now trademark energy and enthusiasm. She seemed gripped by some sort of unusual vitality, more alive but most definitely more hungry. Last night it was what? Third helpings, then that huge breakfast and off to buy more food. I couldn’t help but think ‘You can’t out run a bad diet, let alone out walk it.’ Still, she carried it well, and even after Jenny’s ravenous assault last night, I still noticed her hips swaying, as she strode ahead of me.

Maybe there is something in the water down here?

“The people in the village are actually really nice, you know guys. They really made me feel welcome. We thought that it would be really insular, but they aren’t at all. Plus they are really happy with what we are doing with the old chapel, doing it up, keeping the original art and the crypt in good shape.”

Sophie was marching at quite a pace. Jenny was always an aggressive London walker, so she had no problem keeping up. I was being dragged along at a pace that was slightly beyond me and somewhat uncomfortable. Especially considering how much sleep I had missed out on the night before.

We passed another one of those signs with strange language on it. On closer inspection it was more like a computer code, it wasn’t Cornish or Gaelic, it was made of different shaped triangles, loops and dots, like a semi pictographic language.

The sign to Penwrith cove read:

ᑳᐃᔑᐊᓉᐱᓈᓂᐗᐣᐠ

I was behind the ladies and didn’t have time to ask about the strange sign.

After a short walk it wasn’t long until the small cramped houses peered out above the rolling terrain and above the thick knotted hedges, their roots all twisted and gnarled, seeming to flow into each other. They were all joined and connected, fused, so that it was impossible to tell where one plant finished and the next began.

Before we arrived at the heart of the village an old lady emerged, who was prestigiously fat, but seemed to heave and walk along with relative ease. Her body seemed to roil and flow like the broken Cornish waters.

“Oh aye Sophie, great to see ya.”

“Oh hello, Annie, how are you today my lovely?”

“Same as Sophie, same as.” She paused and turned slowly, head seeming slightly, every so slightly out of phase with the rest of her body.

“Who are these folk Sophie? Friends of yours?”

“Yes Annie, this is Jenny and Mark, friends of ours back from London.”

“Oh London, oh aye. Far ey? What brings ya down here way?”

Jenny came in right on cue. “Oh hello Annie nice to meet you. We just came down to see Sophie and the amazing work she is doing on the chapel. She said you were so nice to her and so welcoming.”

“Oh aye. Sophie is a good lass, fits right into the community. Fits right in, oh aye. And the chapel, good lass aye, doing the good work, keeping it right, oh aye.”

Sophie was obviously very happy we were all getting on. “Oh thanks so much Annie you sweetie. We are just popping into the village shop, need a few things for dinner.”

“Oh aye, you have to swing by George’s, aint open, but you knock and he’ll have some catch save for you Sophie. Always saved for you, oh aye.”

“Oh thanks Annie, was going to ask in the shop. George always saves me something lovely. Such fresh seafood here, don’t get that in London guys.”

“Oh aye, that you don’t.”

Annie paused outside what I assumed was her house.

“See you Annie.” I said warmly, there was no reply, she just stood outside the house and watched us walk into the centre of the village.

I turned back one more time and saw she had turned around and began to undulate back up the path. She never entered the house.

Surprisingly the village was far from empty, several older and definitely larger Cornish ladies floated around the square. Sophie was greeted at least four or five times.

“Oh aye, morning Sophie.”

“Ooh aye, morning lovely, good to see ya.”

“From London ey, knew they were not from around here aye.”

“She fits right in don’t she.”

“Oh aye, fits right in.”

I was curious where all the older men were. Maybe there was a pub or some kind of social club for them somewhere, but the tiny village had none that I could see.

The post office was long closed and boarded up, the church looked long abandoned too. Leaving just a village shop and George’s, which also didn’t seem to be open, at least to outsiders.

There were a few fishing boats tied up in the shallow, murky water, choked with seaweed. The boats looked like they had seen better days. Lovely, welcoming and large old ladies continued to seep out of every house and side street, greeting Sophie and confirming that she did indeed ‘fit right in’.

Stop one was the village shop. It seemed the only thing really open and also the only thing that looked well maintained and regularly visited. We pushed through the door and a strangely discordant chime rang, it seemed almost out of phase with the opening of the door. As if it were delayed by some strange force, like music travelling through water, echoing in that same manner.

“Oh hello Sophie dear.” Another old lady was perched, or might I more accurately say was engulfing the counter at the back of the shop. She must have been over 500lbs. Her folds of fat and skin, swayed and rippled as she waved a lumpy arm at Sophie.

She was again kind and welcoming in that Cornish direct sort of way.

“Take a look around lovely, lots of fresh veggies from the Preston farm in today. Local, as it should be. Oh aye.”

“Oh thanks Maddie, don’t get up yeah, I’ve got a bag dear.”

“Ah bless you Sophie. I can get Freddie to come down and help ya. He’s a lazy little runt, only good for one thing these days dear! Ha!”

“Oh no need Maddie, you cheeky girl you!”

“You sure? He’s probably just hiding upstairs anyway.”

“No, that’s ok, I think I have everything I need nearly already.”

“Who are your friends Sophie dear?”

“This is Mark and Jenny, university friends visiting from London.”

“Oh aye, London ey? Long way to come. Great lass Sophie is, oh aye.”

“Yes she fits right in, so I’ve heard.” I beat her to it.

“Oh aye, good to have some fresh young blood down in these parts. As ya say, fits right in, yes she does. Oh Sophie dear, Mr Preston wanted you to have these, some odd shaped veggies he couldn’t sell anyway, all yours lovely. No charge.”

“Oh that’s so very kind of him. Everyone down here is so nice and generous.”

“We are just happy to have you love and happy yar looking after the old chapel. Doin it proper. Oh aye, lovely to see that.”

“Thank you Maddie dear. Here you go. You sure no charge for this huge bag?”

“Oh no, no, no. No. No Charge love, not for you.”

“Well I will have to bake him and his wife a cake at some point to say thanks.”

“She would love that would Mrs Preston, oh aye. Such a lovely lass you are dear, oh aye.”

We took our time to pull ourselves out of the store, eventually breaching as if coming up for air and returning to the salty fresh Cornish coastal air.

Georges’

“Huge numbers of octopus have been seen along Cornwall’s coastline this month in what experts are describing as a “bumper year” for sightings.”

Cornish Wildlife Trust, 2025

It was across the street, it barely looked open at all, a faded blue fish the only sign that it was in fact a fishmongers, that and of course the smell.

Smells often hit hard but fade fast. This process is known as olfactory fatigue. Whilst ecology was of course my main speciality, I did teach 2 years of human anatomy practicals during my PhD and so I possessed more than just a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy and physiology. This occurs as after the initial binding of the scent molecules to the appropriate receptors in the nose a strong signal is sent to the brain. However, the receptors fatigue upon repeated activation, a negative feedback mechanism so the scent becomes less powerful over time with exposure.

The strangest thing was that inside this awful place the opposite occurred. The longer I stayed the stronger and stronger the smells became, my receptors hijacked into some form of cursed positive feedback loop, ever more oppressive ever more consuming. The reek of fish, supposedly fresh, filled every pore and orifice, seeming to hang in the air like a thick mucus, oozing into the deep recesses of my mind.

The door was open even if the sign said closed, again it had that strange language made up of squiggles and triangles written upon the door.

ᒡᐃᓯᐃᒋᔐᐙᒡᔥ

There was no sound except the creaking of the wooden door as Sophie pushed it open. It made the sound of a wooden boat creaking in a storm, slow and deep and resonant, a heavier sound than seemed appropriate.

The smell continued to grow stronger, for me it was almost overpowering as I stepped inside. I was a marine ecologist so I feigned that it was not affecting me, I had my ego, my pride, I worked with and dissected fish, had taken parasites the size of a chicken egg out of the guts of game fish like the Red Drum in Florida, what was one little cornish fish shop?

The ladies seemed to be completely unconcerned and straight away set about looking through the catch. It was undeniably fresh, the dead fish and shellfish was laid on ice and the eyes were unclouded, still bright, the flesh firm. They had been caught fresh this very morning of that I was sure, then why the intolerable stench? The smell did not match what my eyes beheld.

There were all the usual options; oily mackerel (a Cornish favourite), cod, haddock, monkfish, Dover sole, and huge lobsters held in tanks. Other options included a local speciality Cornish sole, known down here as megrim, red gurnard, oysters, scallops, and mussels. There were also a large number of whole squid and interestingly just the octopus tentacles, large ones, seeming too large for Octopus vulgaris, the common British octopus, they looked more like the tentacles of a giant pacific octopus both for size and bright red colouration. I knew of the reports of increasing octopus sightings down in Cornwall and increased volume of catches. By all accounts some lobster pots were now overflowing with octopi. The scientific community had put it down to climate change and the reduction of predators, but that they were getting this large was incredible, I was compelled to ask some questions of poor old George.

“Just a minute, Sophie dear, they let me know you’d be comin, oh aye, they did, these old bones aren’t what they used to be.”

He was slowly ascending from stairs that led down to some sort of basement, maybe a storage unit or freezer?

George was old and frail, incredibly thin, almost emaciated, he seemed to pause for gasps of air and in that curious Cornish way, pause at random times during his speech and chew the air. His clothes hung off him and he looked unsteady on his feet. His breath was slow and rasping.

“Oh no rush George. Don’t they have anyone to help you? Take it easy, yeah.”

He reached the top of the steps and paused for breath.

“Oh no, it’s just me in here. No fresh blood in the village, apart from you and Jon my dear. Ever since my lovely Lamorna passed on, it’s just me in here. They need me they do, do it right, keep it proper, oh aye, oh aye.”

“If you do ever need a hand with anything heavy, you let me know OK, Jon would be happy to come and help.”

“Oh that’s lovely that is Sophie dear, but I may be slow and small, but there’s still life left in these old Cornish bones, that there is, oh aye, oh aye.”

“Lots left still today, you got here before the four farmsteads came in today plus that lad McMillan at the Fish House is running late today, had problems with his motor, oh aye.”

“Oh I’ve heard of The Fish House in Newquay, rave reviews, the chef comes all the way here to buy his fish, must be the best.” Chimed in Jenny

“Oh yes, they say people can’t get enough of his dishes. He was a local boy you know, one of the last born here, born right and proper. Three reviewers, all lovely ladies from London town, all raving about the best fish they ever tasted, they keep on coming back, so he keeps buying local. He’s a good lad aye, should come back one day, back to his roots, oh ayyye.”

“Everything that Sophie has cooked has been amazing! I can’t wait to try all the other things you have. What do you recommend?”

“Oh aye thank you kindly dear. High praise indeed for old George. I suppose the megrim would be a particular local speciality, they grow big here, ay they do. All the fish do, we look after the reefs, grown up among the wrecks, keep it local, keep it right, oh aye. That and the octopus tentacles, fresh as and larger than any other you find, ours aint tough neither, oh aye, soft as, oh aye.”

“We can have the octopus as a starter and megrim for the main course with some of those twisty veggies. Perfect!” Sophie was happy.

“As you say, aye.”

“Can I ask about the octopus please. They look far too large for the Common British octopus. Are they really caught locally? I’ve never seen them like that and that colour in British waters.”

“Aint nothing common about it lad. No, no, no, they dwell in the wrecks here, huge eyes and deep crimson hues, the watchers in the water, they let them take em, the young the ones they don’t want you know. They grow strong in the dark waters, oh aye, guardin the wrecks, keepin em safe, watchin and waiting.”

“Wait these are the young ones?”

“That’s why there so tender oh aye, you’ll see, never tasted the like of it, oh aye.”

“Thats incredible, it must be a new local species, a giant morph of the common octopus or an invasive cold adapted pacific giant variant. That’s great, just down here in the local waters you say?”

“Oh aye, they stay close to the bay, dwellin in the wrecks they do, only local, only close, oh aye.”

My brain was alight with opportunities, not only was there some kind of local novel ecosystem with a host of interesting small benthic invertebrates, there was a novel and highly charismatic macro predator, a new large cephalopod species! This was Nature and Science stuff, cold water adapted giant Cornish octopus discovered in one bay by holidaying scientist. I would be set for life! Genomics, ecology, nutrient flows, taxonomy, morphology. BBC documentaries! I would be lead author on a host of papers and have grants coming at me left and right. Professor of Ecology here we come! Oxford or Cambridge… how to choose?

I was decided right then, Jen and I needed to dive the wreck, I needed to photograph and film the new species, even better if I could get one alive, challenging as that might be.

“Eugh, how big do the adults get? That’s kinda scary.” Said Jenny suddenly nervously.

“Oh we dont really know love, never leave the wrecks do the big ones, the watchers in the darkness, the fisherman call em, but treat em right, with care and respect, with reverence, with love aye and they do you no harm.”

At the time I paid no heed to the old mans words, watchers? Yes they have very large and especially low light adapted eyes, cephalopod eyes are amazing feats of evolution, convergent on our eyes but larger pound for pound due to their nocturnal hunting habits.

Sophie paid and we thanked old George, who showed us off. Slow, steady and frail but friendly. I was happy to be out of the shop, back in the salty coastal air and away from the overpowering stench.

We ambled our way back up the lane towards the chapel, but our next stop would be to go and check in on the cove. I could wait no longer, my curiosity got the better of me and I wanted to reconnoitre the territory before coming down in force the next day with all my dive gear and scientific equipment.

Chapter 3: Watchers, watchers in the deep

“Far, far below the deepest delvings of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he.”

Gandalf, Lord of the Rings

The bay was of the normal kind, always seeming just one turn of the path away, further than you first thought and then opening up to a larger space than first imagined. The beach was relatively wide and sandy, possessing the normal range of high tide marks, flotsam and jetsam cast about, including a large number of old wooden timber pieces, worn smooth by waves and eaten through by seaworms and other crawling wriggling things that dwell in the depths.

The tide was in currently so to my disappointment there would be no array of benthic invertebrates to investigate today. The best I could hope for was some of the creatures that Sophie told me dwelt amongst the rock pools here. In that department I was far from disappointed, but as I was rolling up my trousers and discarding my shoes, ready to drive right into some energetic beach scrambling our eyes were all drawn to the wreck in the bay.

Even at a moderately high tide the last remnants of the splintered mast were still visible. It must have got so close, maybe even run aground during a low tide and been stranded there. It was old, very old, of that there was no doubt. It looked pre-age of sail even, as it wasn’t large enough to be a mighty ship of the line or similar, but maybe an old 16th century carrack, British or Spanish perhaps. Its blocky wooden construction reminded me of that period, similar to the Golden Hind that was up in London to this day, the age of exploration, the age of wonders beyond the edge of the world.

“Its so old and creepy” said Sophie

“Yeah, and like, does anyone get that weird feeling looking at it.”

“What feeling? Like we are being watched, that feeling that someone is staring at you, somewhere, somewhere you can’t see.”

“Well now I bloody do!”

“Come on ladies don’t be ridiculous, there isn’t anything of note down in British waters that is remotely dangerous, especially at this depth. If it was down at 20m then maybe you might have a Conger eel or 5 hanging out there ready to get you!”

“Oh stop it Mark! Not fun, we are going to swim out to it and have a look aren’t we tomorrow. Is it safe? I’m not qualified to dive a wreck.”

“Yeah we sure are Jenny. Don’t worry, firstly I am, and I won’t be exploring the inside, just going down to poke around and shine my torch in. Secondly you will just be snorkelling alongside me and keeping an eye on me, I only have one set of dive gear and a single tank. I will have a line up to you and buoy for you to hang onto, it will be perfectly safe. It’s all under 10-12m anyway. No worries at all, we will mostly just float around the wreck and check out the reef and I will get some samples and pics and videos of this unique ecosystem.”

“What about the giant octopuses, octopi, octo, eugh the giant scary tentacle monsters!!!”

“Ok I think that those tentacles are definitely from the adults, fishermen like to exaggerate things, they are already larger than the standard British common octopus. Octopi, even the large giant pacific variety are shy creatures and because they are soft bodied, risk averse. There have been very few reports of attacks on humans ever. We will be fine, don’t worry Jen.”

“Ok well I’m staying floating around up top anyway, so I will be fine. Don’t you go chasing one ok.”

“Only for pics and videos ok.”

As we were talking we were picking our way through the rocks and looking for rockpools. The area was indeed abundant with life, seaweed of all three colours, dark browns, vibrant greens and even the delicate reds were found in great amounts.

These of course brought the sandflies, which buzzed about and disturbed Jenny unimaginably. She soon gave up and trudged back up the beach in a huff. The sandflies seemed to buzz at a slightly unusual, almost whining and discordant pitch.

It didn’t take long to find a big rockpool that was bursting with life. I didn’t bring anything to collect them with or a camera, all that would come tomorrow. The first thing that jumped out were the starfish. They had brilliant swirling blue and purple, almost oily hues. They also broke pentradial symmetry, they had fractal symmetry, each one was unique, like an alien snowflake. This was incredible, I mean almost impossible, to have a different form of symmetry that must have broken off from other lineages in the Ordovician or even Pre Cambrian period. Here in this bay, a true living fossil, not just a species but multiple lineages, incredible, beyond imagining.

I could scarcely believe it but my eyes did not lie, there must have been three unique species of starfish in that one pond. They all undulated slowly around, branching, probing and connecting with the others. I thought that I may have observed a sperm package being exchanged between one and another, but strangely of different species. It is not entirely unheard of, after all hybrids exist for a reason, the sexually compatible species definition is a weak one at best, yet these two varied significantly in colour and form, unless there were unique sexual morphs of the same species. My head was swimming with ideas and I could not look away.

The ladies were clearly bored and apparently also hungry again. I could barely imagine eating right now and I stayed until I was called several times with increasing exasperation. Interestingly while I observed many species of small metallic blue shrimps and large isopods there was not a single teleost fish present all the time I watched and waited.

After another few exasperated calls I finally relented, pulling myself away from this fascinating and novel ecosystem, swarming with new and unexplained life.

As I turned and walked up the beach I glanced back. The shadows were lengthening and I swore I saw, or felt I saw, something sparkle like a twinkling star within the water, near or within the wreck.

I gazed a few moments and saw it again, now like a mirage it seemed to spread out as the darkness descended, starry light seeming to flow outward from the wreck. I blinked and it was gone, maybe just a trick of the failing light upon my tired eyes.

I rejoined the others and marched up the short but steep path to the cottage by the sea.

I turned one last time before stepping inside. As the sun set it came again, the flickering of starlight in the water. I glanced up and saw no stars as the sky was cloudy and obscured, yet I was sure of it. The light of distant galaxies danced upon the reef.

It held for another moment, a moment lost in time and then faded away.

A sudden chill gripped me and I turned inside the chapel.

Second night

“They walk unseen and foul in lonely places where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. The wind gibbers with Their voices, and the earth mutters with Their consciousness. They bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not forest or city behold the hand that smites. Kadath in the cold waste hath known Them, and what man knows Kadath? The ice desert of the South and the sunken isles of Ocean hold stones whereon Their seal is engraver, but who hath seen the deep frozen city or the sealed tower long garlanded with seaweed and barnacles?”

Henry Armitage’s translation of the Library of Miskatonic University’s Olaus Wormius Latin version, 17th century Spanish printing

I will spare you the lurid details but I can assure you that no rest was made available to me on the second night of my stay. Again the meal assailed and assaulted my senses, again the ladies seemed to attack every hideous morsel with unrelenting vigor and unending hunger. Again Jon and I contented ourselves with tea and beer. He looked even more haggard and exhausted than the day before. He was quieter too, withdrawn almost and spent all evening staring at Sophie, and was ready to turn in at the first opportunity.

Again I was also seized by my partner. This time I was unable to satisfy her newly insatiable cravings. I excused myself after my most valiant efforts and retreated downstairs, claiming I needed some fresh air.

As I descended down the stairs I could feel something had changed in the chapel. It was as if some dim green light was flowing up into the building, seeping through the cracks and crevices like a wave of stagnant water emerging from the depths. Pulling the whole house like a sinking vessel down into the abyss.

As I reached the central chamber I saw it and then I heard it as well. There was indeed a sickly greenish light coming from the sealed vault down to the hidden chapel. It was unmistakable that there was indeed light flowing up from that darkly sacred place. And there was chanting.

I strained to hear the words.

She comes sweeping the roads,

Protectress of sacred sites, and spreading hospitality

Over lands and seas.

It was muffled and I could barely make it out, I feel like I missed some verses and others I cannot recall. Only fragments remain.

Thorns, thorns fill my hands;

Thorns fill my hands,

In the divine oceans, the sacred flesh,

Is supported by the net of man.

Even though I was terrified I advanced upon the chamber door. Gently I tried my strength against it and it did not budge. Not wanting to make a sound I began to retreat. As I turned I was met with a fightful shock. It was Sophie, clad in a bathrobe, it barely concealed her full and curvaceous frame. She overflowed in front of me, sweet lines and brazen curves, full of life and lust and vigor.

“Hey there stud, what are you doing up so late at night? I thought that you would be.” She paused for a second to direct her gaze downwards, even as her hand gently touched my chest. “Busy.”

I was both terrified and aroused at the same time. She had that same look as Jenny, that ravenous carnal hunger. Her terrible and beautiful eyes thirsted and drank from me.

“I just needed some fresh air. What are you doing up?”

“Oh my man is already fast asleep. I came down for a little midnight snack, are you also hungry? Don’t take too long now. I’m sure your partner is ravenous for more attention. It would be oh so dangerous to stay at this point.”

As she spoke the last words she ran her hand along my inner thigh. My body responded instantly. I was lost in her eyes, her enormous breasts called to me.

“Yes, it certainly would be, most dangerous indeed...”

I stopped myself in that instant, leaning forward, ready, willing.

“I need to go, I’m sorry.”

She simply smiled, her starving eyes focussed upon me, luring me in.

I turned to leave and retreat upstairs, hard as rock.

Jenny was more than pleased with my renewed efforts, but my mind was not on her.

The nightmare of the marine biologists wife

“...until the age of 70, nothing I drew was worthy of notice. At 73 years I was somewhat able to fathom the growth of plants and trees, and the structure of birds, animals, insects and fish. Thus when I reach 80 years, I hope to have made increasing progress, and at 90 to see further into the underlying principles of things, so that at 100 years I will have achieved a divine state in my art, and at 110, every dot and every stroke will be as though alive. Those of you who live long enough, bear witness that these words of mine are not false.”

Katsushika Hokusai, the old master

We rose early and I made an excuse to Jen that we needed to be up to catch the tides. This was half true but truth be told I just couldn’t face either a full, and likely fishy, breakfast or the mistress of the house. Jen grabbed some leftovers, heated those up and devoured them in what seemed like seconds. In the meantime I got to work bringing our kit down to the beach.

I had hauled all the equipment down to the beach as Jen wasn’t going to do any heavy lifting. It took two trips, one for the tank and one for the rest of the gear. Jen was still upset about the sandflies but had at least gotten into her wetsuit by the time I returned panting. She was eating a high calorie oat and chocolate snack bar, eating again? Was it me or had she already put on weight since getting down here?

We had semi dries, two layered thick 7mm suits. They were heavy and awkward and took an age to get into but would at least keep us both warm. UK diving even in the summer is not for the faint hearted. I felt Jen’s eyes upon me I dressed. Food and sex seemed to be the most pressing things on her mind.

She loped towards me, sniffed me and licked at my sweating body before I had a chance to finish putting on the suit.

“You know, no one else is around…”

“Hey Jen, this is very exciting but we really need to get in the water with the tide.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You will get your fill tonight I promise.”

“Oh I know, can’t wait.”

We kissed again long and deep. My head was swimming and spinning. It took me a moment to regain my composure. My thoughts returned to the dive. Jen stood in front of me staring eagerly.

It wasn’t a deep dive by any means, 10 to max 14m by the look of it and I doubt I would be down at the bottom for long. My air would run dry long before any issues with nitrogen toxicity. As long as I didn’t enter into the wreck directly, it was a very simple and safe dive. There was no wind and the sea looked calm. Visibility looked pretty good when I looked down from the cliff, remarkably good for UK waters actually.

I gave a short dive plan summary to Jen.

“Ok ready to hear the plan?”

“Yes! Fire away handsome.”

“Ok so it’s a simple beach entry dive, we wade in backwards and put our fins on once in the water. You carry that big red buoy in with you and can hang onto it if you get tired floating around up top.”

“Ok cool, you carry it down to the water though.”

“Ok sure, I float out on top with you until we get close to the wreck.”

“OK.”

“Then I start my dive, it’s not deep, all under 20m so I will have loads of air and no issues with decompression sickness or anything like that.”

“Ok good.”

“I am tied to the buoy so you will be able to see me at all times. For the UK the visibility is great today. At least 10m or so I reckon, so again as long as you stay with the buoy you can keep an eye on me.”

“Ok that’s good, 10m is good ey? In the red sea it was like 30m plus.”

“Yeah for here that’s good trust me. So then I reckon maybe 30-45mins max, it’s still cold in the water here. I won’t be entering the wreck and just want photos and videos of stuff on the reef and the wreck. It’s UK water so, even with the unique species here, it’s not like a coral reef, I will get a good idea of what’s here in 30mins.”

“Ok sure, sounds good. Do I have to wear the lifejacket? I might want to do some little freedives to come see you and say hi.”

“Ok sure I suppose not, you can always use the buoy for flotation if you get tired, with the semi dry you will float pretty well anyway. That’s fine.”

“Ok awesome I hate them, always rub on your neck and make it sore.”

“Yeah I know right. The only other thing would be potential currents. As we swim out I will have a feel for it and see if we have any strong drift or pulls. If it’s strong we abandon the dive, ok, I wont have you hanging out swimming hard for 30mins in a current.”

“Ok cool, glad to hear it.”

“Any questions?”

“Nope! Let’s do it!”

“Ok awesome, should be fun.”

“Just stay away from the giant tentacle monsters ok?”

“Dont worry, they are very shy creatures and won’t be interested in me.”

I made some last final checks and got Jen to check my tank and take a breath from my regulator. Everything was operating as it should.

One final high five as is the tradition of divers and the like and we were ready to begin.

We trudged down to the sea, assailed by sandflies the whole way. I was warm by the time I got to the water and was pleased to drop the buoy and get the suit wet.

The cold atlantic water was at first a pleasant relief, flowing around the semi dry suits of Jenny and myself.

“Ah that’s so much better! Ok Marky lets get ready to go. If I swim out ahead to a place near the reef and you bob along with me yeah?”

It was my last verbal signal to Jenny. My last words to her before, before the dive.

“Ok Jen, no problem. Stay safe yeah? I’m putting in my regulator now.”

So the dive began, we paddled out for about 10 meters before I rolled over, I was on the surface looking down, through the bright and clear water, surprisingly bright for British waters.

A better day, I could not have chosen, or so I thought.

The water was alive, full and alive, I lost all trace of time and was absorbed in the work. Cold water corals, sea stars, sea fans, countless iridescent worms, those strange fractal starfish, all maddening colours I had never seen before. It was hard to tell as the water robs the colours, particularly the reds, but they seemed almost like an oily metallic sheen at times. Radiant and fractal colours, colours I could scarce describe.

Colours not of this world.

Then I saw it, the wreck, it must be in less than 12m of water, heavy and dark, struggling under the weight of the corals and growths that hung from every part of it. Oozing out life and darkness in equal measure.

I signalled using divers hand signals, there were no more words now.

“OK, going down”

I got back one last OK.

I descended slowly. My ears were never the best, though I loved to dive in order to witness marine life, sometimes I was known to suffer from blocked sinuses or even the dreaded reverse block. So I always took my time with ascents and descents, slow and careful, I always thought it would keep me safe.

As I drew closer to the wreck I saw it. Or should I say it saw me. I didn’t even need the powerful dive light I had brought. A huge eye, the size of a side plate, or larger even, an enormous eye, convergent on the human eye, from across time and space, under water and lost in the Ordovician, but so like our eyes, the eyes of the deep. A cousin reflected over 500 million years.

Behind it for a second there was something else, something I can scarcely describe, it looked like an orb of liquid twilight, twisting under the tendrils of the crimson guardian. I saw it only for a second, a terrible second seared into my mind and my dreams, the space beyond space, the treasure of the wreck, once seen and never forgotten. A portal to the void beyond the stars.

The monster’s body moved through the bulk of the ship, deep and dark red, coiling and squirming. George was right! It was a beast, larger than any pacific octopus, this was the single largest octopus on the planet. A great new cold water octopus, a huge cephalopod macro predator unknown to science.

It was awe inspiring.

A sudden fear gripped me.

Dark red, a predator, massive. Humboldt squid were half the size of this beast and could tear a man to shreds in the water, or indeed feast on their own in a cannibalistic frenzy. This was not a shy little common octopus, this was an aquatic killer, lying in wait.

Then I noticed something uncanny. At first I had assumed the creature was staring at me but the eye was not fixed upon me. Jenny had dived down, freediving down to come and say hi to me. She was serene and beautiful for a second. Her hair tied up fair floating like a mermaid, her gentle wave hanging with her hair in the water. Suspended in time and space for evermore.

To my horror the beast had fixed its gaze upon her.

I spun in the water, but it was too late, I was too slow. What could I do? Lost, out of my element, inside the realm of the tentacled tyrant, we were both at its mercy. But it wanted nothing to do with me.

Then it struck me, the raw terror of it, I knew what it wanted. As it uncoiled itself, huge and billowing in form, emerging from the wreck. Jenny stopped stunned, holding place in 7m of water. I counted, I saw. The 9th tendril, the hectocotylus, quivering, pulsing and erect. The tyrant king of the wreck was flushed deep crimson.

This one was a male.

The 9th tentacle disconnected from the fell mass and broke free, swimming under its own disgusting coiling twisting power, a suckered and muscular snake, a snake with one purpose. One unholy drive.

Jenny screamed and the air went out of her lungs as the hectocotylus approached her, engulfing and surrounding her, wrapping around her and pulling her back towards her new hellish lover.

The other tentacles reached out to embrace his new bride. Twisting and coiling, covering and caressing her. The water was occluded not with ink but cloudy white sperm packets, the deed was being done. The last I saw of poor Jenny was her face split in terror and ecstasy, as what seemed like she was splitting open like the stomach of a starfish. The monster poured all of its power and potency into her. Before she was carried away into the wreck. Away from this world.

I screamed into my regulator and fled, fled like a coward. Fled in utmost terror. Fled to the surface, ears burning and bursting and fled to the beach. I dumped my gear there, never to reclaim it, never to dive again.

Never to enter the accursed ocean, only to be haunted by it.

I knew I needed help, I knew I needed someone sane to help me.

I ran dripping wet up the path still covered in my semi dry suit. Padding and panting up the beach.

To what I thought was safety.

To the chapel by the sea.

Lo! Let men be dragged forth!

“Many of us have dealt with a clingy boyfriend or girlfriend, but some male deep-sea anglerfish take things to the extreme: In certain species, the male latches onto the much larger female, permanently fusing his body with hers.”

Lucy Hicks, writing for science magazine.

I ran without breathing, looked without seeing and fell forward, bursting through the gate to that hellish chapel. The green sickly light seemed to flood up and fill me, the door, the opening to the chapel below, the gate to the underworld, bathed in green was alive. The terrible chanting filled the air. Seeping and echoing from every corner, rebounding like music lost in a terrible sea.

She came to me then.

Approaching slowly, cautiously, flowing and rippling like the ocean itself. Her limbs reached out like a terrible starfish. I was paralysed unable to resist. She was huge and vast and swollen, rippling and billowing, chanting, chanting that hellish song from the chapel. Now I could hear it in all its complete and terrible glory. A hymn to some dark goddess:

“The coiling, the twisting, Shub-Niggurath,

Of eight limbed blood circled face,

Envenomed,

In a tiara of tentacles she comes.

She comes sweeping the roads,

Protectress of sacred sites, and spreading hospitality

Over lands and seas.

In place of the sun’s acxoyatl tree,

In the divine oceans, the sacred flesh,

Is supported by the net of man.

Thorns, thorns fill my hands;

Thorns fill my hands,

In the divine oceans, the sacred flesh,

Is supported by the net of man.

“His seeking rod, his glory;

Let him fill me,

Let my prince fill me.”

Our mother, enemy woman, Shub-Niggurath

Our mother, enemy woman, Shub-Niggurath

Already the sun has declared his war!

Three moons pull deep upon the divine oceans.

Lo! Let men be dragged forth!

All shall be destroyed!”

Then as she reached towards me, she slowly began to split and tear apart, opening up like a huge inhuman starfish, in place of organs, hundreds of thousands of twisting coiling white feet, deep reds and whites, coiling twisting and touching. I was so close, so close to being joined. I saw it and I wanted it, I lusted after that terrible end. To give in to ecstasy and lose yourself completely to join the monstress woman and be placed back into her hellish womb.

Then I saw the eyes and the face.

It was John, already consumed, eyes hanging in a sunken emaciated skull, grinning ear to earl. Forever fused with his lady love. I screamed in terror and fell back. The creature still lunging forward, hungry, ever hungry for more. More food, more flesh, more lovers, more seed, more of all.

The suckers, the grasping feet and twisting tendrils found no hold upon my wetsuit and I stumbled back. Away, crawling and fleeing, I grabbed at Jenny’s bag, still on the table. There were car keys there. I didn’t look back, I couldn’t. I crawled and l felt myself slip free from sucker and flesh.

I stumbled through the door, still fleeing, now fleeing forever from this place.

Epilogue: Folding, twisting, coiling, branching

“I cannot think of the deep sea without shuddering at the nameless things that may at this very moment be crawling and floundering on its slimy bed...”

H.P. Lovecraft, Dagon

I’m trembling as I write this. I take so many of the tablets, the amphetamines, keep me awake, they keep the dreams away. They never found Jen’s body, how could they. Did they even try? The local police sent a short report, and I was interviewed several times. They found the dive gear, there are words from the chapel, words that do not match the speakers. They all speak in riddles and masks. The speakers that come to whisper to me in the night, in the shadows, crawling down hallways when I try to sleep, slipping from bathtubs dripping and coiling. Dark twisting forms just out of sight, always watching, always listening, always hungry. They live in the starry shadows, haunting my every shallow pathetic step.

I was committed for a time, held safe and secure, safe from myself they told me. PTSD they called it, with a psychotic episode, alongside undiagnosed autism. Yes I know I am insane, that what I tried to tell that young graduate student, tried to warn her at least, she just smiled at me. Such a beautiful smile, a helping smile. I tried to warn the awarding committee, and tried to warn the university. They don’t want to hear it, they all just assume I am a shy and eccentric genius. They called me modest and withdrawn, a damaged but beautiful mind. A beautiful mind! HA! A terrible mind, holding a curse I was too cowardly to end. Instead I gave it form, perfect immutable mathematical form. They all want the fruits of my madness laid bare and opened up, vivisected for the world. They shall have their autopsy and from it a new world of wonders and horrors like never seen before. A world of madness, goddesses and monsters shall return to walk, crawl and scuttle upon the earth, invading every mind and entering every dream.

My work lays the foundation for the end of the age of man.

There now you know it all, all of the madness, all of the horror, all of the depths of depravity. They call me now to become a hallowed member of the Royal Society. I shall not make it there I fear, the scuttling, twisting queen of thorns is so close to finding me now. She has been stalking me a long while, she is so very hungry, ravenous, insatiable. I am not worthy of the honour, I deserve but one end.

A mathematician and computer scientist at UCL and their young beautiful Chinese PhD student have written a paper outlining how my work can be used to create next generational AI neural networks. Next Generation Fractal Topologies with Ecological Redundancies (Russel, Alvarez and Xi, 2053), their brilliant paper, they see what I cannot, I have helped them see, see with blind eyes, see their blind idiot truth. They will use these horrors to build minds, minds like the hell tyrant of the wreck, minds like the spiny goddess, the goddess of consumption and terror.

Minds that will consume us all.

I can stand the shame no longer. The stimulants I take prevent me from sleeping, so I don’t see the dreams. My hands shake, my limbs ache, now I see her everywhere, and now at last I want her, I never stopped wanting her. Creeping from every corner of every room, flowing from the bathtub, reaching to grasp me, to embrace me, to join with me now and forever. Twitching and grasping, her flabby flowing body and sucking tentacles.

I am ready now.

Take me now.

I was a coward before, great goddess, take me now.

“My seeking rod, my glory;

Let me fill her,

Let my queen feast upon me.”

Characters and connections

This tale is the first one chronologically in The Three Moons Mythos 🌙🌙🌙.

It works as a standalone tale (with a more classic HP Lovecraft feel from my cyberpunk universe) but also introduces one very, very important character.

Dr Ling Xi, the beautiful and kind young PhD student of this tale, the coding cat, is one of the main characters in The Three Moons Mythos 🌙🌙🌙.

She has been interviewed a few times by Time, and by OBC’s The Life Scientific, she also had a New Scientist Article.

Her next story in timeline order is called Cool Winds, Dark Skies.

She also did a panel on Quantum AI with Dr Kate Harper, was one of the main speakers at the S4 Android Launch Event and helped a team in China build their own “Little Dragon”.

For her PhD research she also made contact with the troubled mind of Proffessor Mark Leishman.

She is a very busy, brillant and popular lady after all!

Dr Ling Xi and the mysterious Queen will return in my debut novel, “A Queen of Light and Shadow”.

Support this work

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So the work will not sit behind a paywall.

If you feel like supporting me (and supporting Jesus Santana, you will mostly be buying him coffee) then please leave a small donation here.