Lord Hillary Cheswick is a prominent English adventurer and gentleman that you’ve no doubt heard of before. I’ve been in contact with Lord Cheswick over the years and have enjoyed my correspondence with him until all communication stopped. Lord Cheswick had disappeared without a trace and the world thought he was dead, perhaps killed by his arch-nemesis Doctor Clown or lost in an haze of opium fueled delight. Thankfully, I have happy news to share. I received a new letter in the mail from Lord Cheswick just recently. I’ve decided to share it with you, in case you too feared the worst.
Lord Hillary Cheswick here,
Greetings and salutations my friend. I must apologize for my lack of correspondence over the last few years, but I was unable to write for many reasons. I’ve finally gotten a chance to put pen to paper and can now catch you up on all of the adventures that I could not share previously. Let’s begin post haste!
It all began three years ago after I read in The Strand that the Godless Huns had developed a rather strong attachment to a polar bear cub named Knut. I figured that if the real bear was half as adorable as this one in the daguerreotypes appeared to be, then he was an enormous bundle of cuteness. He had to be if even the bloodthirsty Huns had developed an affection for him. I was of course offended that those barbarians could boast such a find while Mother England was sorely lacking in adorable animals of the bear variety. I also saw the potential for an enormous business opportunity. Having had several business failures recently due to the combined candy corn blight and slave revolts in Haiti, I was eager for a change in fortunes.
I immediately made plans and gathering resources for a new adventure. I hired a fine crew of brown skinned Hindus and booked passage on the nearest steamer headed for the North Pole in order to catch as many baby polar bears as I could to sell for a vast profit. After kissing my adoring Constance on the forehead and slapping my mistress across the tits for what I perceived would be the last time in a good many weeks, I was off.
With such a short notice, the only steamer I could find that was going to the North Pole was already spoken for, in fact it was on a special expedition. I was lucky enough that the man heading the expedition, Professor Clarence Stoddard, not only had enough room for me, but needed the monies I promised him upon our return voyage. The good professor was a gaunt, wispy American with a quiet demeanor. It was explained to me that he was an antiquarian from Miskatonic University who held an interest in ancient and mysterious lore and was out to find something buried at the North Pole. I actually didn’t know this at the time, because I was too busy thinking about breasts while he explained everything to me.
We set sail and for most of the voyage the Professor stayed in his cramped quarters, buried in ancient texts while I strode about the vessel in the nude as God intended. It wasn’t long before the air grew colder and I was forced to cover up my manly bits from the elements. The Hindus were particularly affected by the drastic change of temperature as I had originally told that the purpose of the voyage was to return them to their native India. They were extremely dissatisfied and distempered at the news, but after several good beatings with my cane they were back in a proper, subservient attitude.
I don’t want to bore you any further with needless details aboard the ship and all the various beatings that went on, instead I will jump right into the meat of the adventure. We had set up a temporary base camp and our polar bear cub hunting wasn’t going as well as I’d planned. It seemed that mother polar bears weren’t very pleased with our attempts to steal their babies from them and I had not properly prepared for this. This is the last time I leave for an expedition without my hunting rifles. We suffered many failures until I hit upon an ingenious idea. One of the Hindus had been badly injured from our first disastrous attempt to steal a cub, and by using him as bait, we were able to abscond with one of the little bears with an acceptable loss of life.
In the meantime, the Professor was studying his ancient scrolls, and performing curious calculations with the assistance of a magnet, a sextant, and the entrails of one of my dead Hindus. He’d often disappear into the cold, hellish darkness for hours at a time, only to return with a blank and disappointed expression in his eyes.
One morning everything changed. I was about embark on an expedition to procure another bear cub when Professor Stoddard burst into my tent and grabbed me by the shoulders. He was overcome with a frenzy; he was screaming incoherently, great gobs of spittle exploded from his mouth, veins spread out of his forehead like the exposed roots of a great tree, the colour of his skin was as white as chalk. In fact, he looked very much like my dear Constance when she is engaged in intercourse with a rented mule for the entertainment of my gentlemen explorer’s club. The only thing that calmed him down was a dose of my dwindling supply of Captain Nigel’s Olde Fashioned Morphine Miracle Cure before we began to discuss what had excited him so.
With his composure regained, he told me that he had gotten some numbers wrong in his calculations, but now that he had corrected them he had made an incredible discovery. According to him, we were located not far from a doorway to the other world that he could open through the results of his studies. He was adamant that we must go there immediately.
I asked him what he was talking about and the story that spilled out of him was so fantastic that I dare not repeat it in full here for fear of offending the finer sensibilities of the English brain. I can only write here that Stoddard had found references to the tomb of an ancient creature that had once ruled over the whole Earth, including even the British Isles. I found his story preposterous, but I decided that I would follow him on his fool’s errand in the slimmest possibility that it was true so I could claim this other world for the Queen. In the greater chance that he was wrong, I looked forward to pointing and laughing at him while I mocked his masculinity.
It happened that the cave in which this doorway was located not too distant from our base camp. When we had come upon it, I left the remaining Hindu’s to guard the entrance and watch out for any signs of bear related activities. I had the inclination that the polar bears would soon go on the offensive, so it was best to be prepared.
The doorway itself was an unassuming thing, except for the fact it was a stone doorway located in the most inhospitable place on Earth that wasn’t France. The Professor uttered some strange incantations and the door opened as if by magic. We stepped through the doorway into the Stygian darkness. The only light was provided by the burning torches we carried. The Professor thought that we should have brought our electric torches (flashlights to you Yanks), but I preferred the ambiance of the flaming variety.
I had expected the tunnels that we explored to be made of ice, but instead they were of a black rock that I couldn’t identify, since I’m not a pansy pants geologist. We walked for what seemed like hours until we finally came upon an immense and empty hall that was carved out of the ebony-hued rock carved by some unknown hand. In the center of this hall was a great pit where an immense sleeping creature that was so unworldly that my mind could barely comprehend what I was seeing. Even though it was laying down in slumber, I could tell it was many metres tall. It had some wings on its back that seemed highly superfluous and there many tentacles that stretched out from it’s hands and head. It was so beyond hideous that the only frame of reference I have for how horrifyingly ugly it was is your mother. Sorry, I must apologize, I can’t help myself sometimes.
The Professor placed his pack on the stone floor and began rummaging around whispering excitedly, “Where is it? Where is it!?” I asked him what he was looking for and he told me to quite down, for fear of waking the creature. He continued saying that he had brought a special mystical device that was the only thing capable of destroying the unearthly horror before us. I asked him if it was a small, slightly roundish knife type of thing and he said that it was. I then explained to him that I had taken it from his things on the journey for I was badly in need of a cheese knife and that I’d accidentally dropped it overboard in a fit of rage after one of the sailors had dared to accuse me of stealing his lighter. I then explained to the piqued sailor that I did so, but only because I needed to burn a wart off of my foot. It was at this point that the Professor rudely cut me off with a loud cry of rage and stream of profanities directed at me, which I felt was quite unjustified.
The high pitched screaming of the Professor echoed throughout the great hall. We both stood stock still, realizing the kind of danger the foolish antiquarian had put us both in. Just as we thought that we might be able to sneak out without disturbing the creature’s slumber one great eye opened. It’s steely gaze tore through our souls like a police detective who knows that he finally has the East End Horse Rapist in his interrogation room.
It quickly rose to it’s full height and let out an unholy cry, which could have been it’s evil yawn. The beast loomed before us, hundreds of metres tall and mad as the dickens. It felt like I was losing my tenuous grasp on sanity for in my mind’s eye I began to see all manner of horrific events of the past and the future play out before me at once. I glimpsed ancient and indescribable creatures terrorizing cave men, I bore witness to bloody Roman wars, and I viewed monstrous metal beasts destroying the English countryside, and worst of all I saw Negroids voting for public office. I was enthralled by the hideous monster and I knew I’d reached my doom, until I hit upon an idea. I pushed Professor Stoddard into the beast’s whirling tentacles and I ran away as fast as I possibly could, screaming like a woman.
Upon exiting the cave, I ordered three of the Hindus to go check on Mr. Stoddard’s well-being while the remaining two carried our only polar bear cub to the long boat anchored near the camp. We made haste and by the time we reached the long boat had been destroyed and there was no sign of the steamer. I realized with horror then that my attempt to gain the friendship and trust of the captain of the vessel by complimenting his mother’s sexual prowess every time I saw him may have been misinterpreted. He must have set sail while we were preoccupied on the snowy mainland. We pursued our only other course of option and managed to get on an ice floe. There the four of us were, in the middle of a frigid ocean on a hunk of ice.
Soon the issue of hunger became a most real crisis. I couldn’t rightly eat the polar bear cub and return to England empty handed, so the remaining Hindus gladly gave up their lives for the betterment of Queen and Country after several blows to their heads. The bear cub and I dined well that night! The Hindus well beaten skin also made for a fine extra coat and blanket for protection against the freezing air.
Eventually as time wore on and I was thinking that the cub and I would to draw straws, we were picked up by a Russian whaling vessel where I’ve been repeatedly raped. At first I found the process quite unpleasant, but now I must admit that I’ve grown a little fond of it. Still, I can’t wait for my nightly dalliances to end so I can be back home in jolly old England and the arms of my dear Constance. But before we reached those blessed shores, the strangest thing occurred, the adorable polar bear cub had somehow gained influence among the crew and caused a sort of mutiny, but that’s another tale for another time.
And so ends this first part of my long adventure. I hope that I can write to you again soon and relate the rest of my tale.
Lord Hillary E. Cheswick
*Note: Cthulu Image came from here