In Call of Cthulhu stellt ihr euch dem Wahnsinn von Darkwater. Im Test besprechen wir ausführlich, wie gut die Mischung aus Horror und. Cthulhus Ruf ist eine der bekanntesten Kurzgeschichten des amerikanischen Horrorautors H. P. Lovecraft. Die Geschichte wurde im Sommer des Jahres geschrieben, im Februar im Pulp-Magazin Weird Tales veröffentlicht und in die Sammlung. The Call of Cthulhu | Lovecraft, H. P. | ISBN: | Kostenloser Versand für alle Bücher mit Versand und Verkauf duch Amazon.
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Cthulhus Ruf ist eine der bekanntesten Kurzgeschichten des amerikanischen Horrorautors H. P. Lovecraft. Die Geschichte wurde im Sommer des Jahres geschrieben, im Februar im Pulp-Magazin Weird Tales veröffentlicht und in die Sammlung. Cthulhus Ruf (englischer Originaltitel: Call of Cthulhu) ist eine der bekanntesten Kurzgeschichten des amerikanischen Horrorautors H. P. Lovecraft. Call of Cthulhu steht für: Call of Cthulhu, den Originaltitel der Kurzgeschichte Cthulhus Ruf von H. P. Lovecraft; Call of Cthulhu (Rollenspiel), ein Rollenspiel von. The Call of Cthulhu | Lovecraft, H. P. | ISBN: | Kostenloser Versand für alle Bücher mit Versand und Verkauf duch Amazon. von Ergebnissen oder Vorschlägen für Bücher: "Call of Cthulhu". Überspringen und zu Haupt-Suchergebnisse gehen. Berechtigt zum kostenfreien. In Call of Cthulhu stellt ihr euch dem Wahnsinn von Darkwater. Im Test besprechen wir ausführlich, wie gut die Mischung aus Horror und. Call of Cthulhu jetzt online bestellen. ✓ Versandkostenfrei ab 50€ ✓ Kostenlos abholen im Store.
In Call of Cthulhu stellt ihr euch dem Wahnsinn von Darkwater. Im Test besprechen wir ausführlich, wie gut die Mischung aus Horror und. Cthulhus Ruf ist eine der bekanntesten Kurzgeschichten des amerikanischen Horrorautors H. P. Lovecraft. Die Geschichte wurde im Sommer des Jahres geschrieben, im Februar im Pulp-Magazin Weird Tales veröffentlicht und in die Sammlung. - cold water and the tentacles of the old ones. Weitere Ideen zu Ctulhu, Horrorkunst, Fantasy kunst. But I was then convinced that young Wilcox had known of the older matters mentioned by the professor. They worshipped, so they said, the Great Old Ones who lived ages before there were any men, and who came to the young world out of the sky. Fortunately, Johansen turns his yacht around and rams it into the creature's head, which bursts with "a slushy nastiness Melissa Joey of a cloven sunfish "- only to immediately begin regenerating. All trademarks are property of their respective owners in the US and other countries. This passage is also believed Küchenschlacht have inspired Lovecraft's entity Azathothhence the title of Price's essay. Upon retiring, he had had an unprecedented dream Walking Dead Shirts great Cyclopean cities of titan blocks High Live sky-flung monoliths, all dripping with green ooze and sinister with latent horror. Im Store Zsa Zsa Gabor. Jetzt bewerten! Als Rahmenhandlung dienen mehrere Dokumente, die der verstorbene Francis Wayland Thurston hinterlassen hat. Screenshots und V Wie Vendetta. Klarer Verstand ist ein allzu seltener Gefährte und wird oft durch das Flüstern aus der Dunkelheit ersetzt.
In the dream, Lovecraft is visiting an antiquity museum in Providence, attempting to convince the aged curator there to buy an odd bas-relief Lovecraft himself had sculpted, who initially scoffs at him for trying to sell something recently made to a museum of antique objects.
Lovecraft then remembers himself answering the curator with the response. This can be compared to what the character of Henry Anthony Wilcox tells the main character's uncle while showing him his sculpted bas-relief for help in reading hieroglyphs on it which came through Wilcox's own fantastical dreams:.
Lovecraft then used this for a brief synopsis of a new story outlined in his own Commonplace Book at first in August , which developed organically out of the idea of what the bas-relief in the dream actually might have depicted.
Cthulhu Mythos scholar Robert M. Price claims the irregular sonnet "The Kraken ",  written in by Alfred Tennyson , was a major inspiration for Lovecraft's story, as both reference a huge aquatic creature sleeping for an eternity at the bottom of the ocean and destined to emerge from its slumber in an apocalyptic age.
Joshi and David E. Schultz cited other literary inspirations: Guy de Maupassant 's " The Horla " , which Lovecraft described in Supernatural Horror in Literature as concerning "an invisible being who It is also assumed he got inspiration from William Scott-Elliot 's The Story of Atlantis and The Lost Lemuria , which Lovecraft read in shortly before he started to work on the story.
Price also notes that Lovecraft admired the work of Lord Dunsany , who wrote The Gods of Pegana , which depicts a god constantly lulled to sleep to avoid the consequences of its reawakening.
Another Dunsany work cited by Price is A Shop in Go-by Street , which stated "the heaven of the gods who sleep", and "unhappy are they that hear some old god speak while he sleeps being still deep in slumber".
The "slight earthquake" mentioned in the story is likely the Charlevoix—Kamouraska earthquake. Joshi has also cited A. Merritt 's novella The Moon Pool which Lovecraft 'frequently rhapsodied about'.
Joshi says that, 'Merritt's mention of a "moon-door" that, when tilted, leads the characters into a lower region of wonder and horror seems similar to the huge door whose inadvertent opening by the sailors causes Cthulhu to emerge from R'lyeh'.
Edward Guimont has argued that H. Wells ' The War of the Worlds was an influence on "The Call of Cthulhu", citing the thematic similarities of ancient, powerful, but indifferent aliens associated with deities; physical similarities between Cthulhu and the Martians ; and the plot detail of a ship ramming an alien in a temporarily successful but ultimately futile gesture.
The story's narrator, Francis Wayland Thurston, recounts his discovery of various notes left behind by his great uncle, George Gammell Angell, a prominent professor of Semitic languages at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island , who died during the winter of after being jostled by a sailor.
The first chapter, "The Horror in Clay", concerns a small bas-relief sculpture found among the notes, which the narrator describes: "My somewhat extravagant imagination yielded simultaneous pictures of an octopus , a dragon , and a human caricature.
A pulpy, tentacled head surmounted a grotesque and scaly body with rudimentary wings. Angell also discovers reports of "outre mental illnesses and outbreaks of group folly or mania" around the world in New York City , "hysterical Levantines " mob police; in California , a Theosophist colony dress in white robes while awaiting a "glorious fulfillment".
The second chapter, "The Tale of Inspector Legrasse", discusses the first time the Professor had heard the word "Cthulhu" and seen a similar image.
At the meeting of the American Archaeological Society in St. Louis, Missouri , a New Orleans police official named John Raymond Legrasse asked the assembled antiquarians to identify an idol carved from a mysterious greenish-black stone.
Legrasse had discovered the relic months before in the swamps south of New Orleans, during his raid on a supposed voodoo cult. The idol resembles Wilcox's sculpture, and represented a "thing, which seemed instinct with a fearsome and unnatural malignancy, was of a somewhat bloated corpulence, and squatted evilly on a rectangular block or pedestal covered with undecipherable characters.
On November 1, , Legrasse led a party of fellow policemen in search of several women and children who disappeared from a squatter community. The police found the victims' "oddly marred" bodies being used in a ritual where men—all of a "mentally aberrant type"—were "braying, bellowing, and writhing" and repeatedly chanting the phrase: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn".
After killing five of the participants and arresting 47 others, Legrasse interrogated the men before learning "the central idea of their loathsome faith":.
Some day he would call, when the stars were ready, and the secret cult would always be waiting to liberate him.
The prisoners identify the confiscated idol as Cthulhu himself, and translate their mysterious phrase as "In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
One of the academics present at the meeting, William Channing Webb, a professor of anthropology at Princeton , states that during an expedition to the western coast of Greenland, he encountered "a singular tribe of degenerate Eskimos whose religion, a curious form of devil-worship, chilled him with its deliberate bloodthirstiness and repulsiveness".
Webb claims the Greenland cult possessed both the same chant and a similar "hideous" fetish. Thurston, the narrator, reflects that "My attitude was still one of absolute materialism, as I wish it still were.
The article reports the discovery of a derelict ship in the Pacific Ocean with only one survivor—a Norwegian sailor named Gustaf Johansen, second mate on board the Emma , a schooner which originally sailed from Auckland, New Zealand.
On March 22, the Emma encountered a heavily armed yacht , the Alert , crewed by "a queer and evil-looking crew of Kanakas and half-castes" from Dunedin.
After being attacked by the Alert without provocation, the crew of the Emma killed everyone aboard, but lost their own ship in the battle.
With the exception of Johansen and a fellow sailor who then died as they made their way back to Auckland, New Zealand due to madness from seeing whatever was on that uncharted island , the remaining crewmembers perish on the island.
Johansen never reveals the cause of their death. Thurston travels to New Zealand and then Australia, where at the Australian Museum he views a statue retrieved from the Alert with a " cuttlefish head, dragon body, scaly wings, and hieroglyphed pedestal".
While in Oslo , Thurston learns that Johansen died suddenly during an encounter with two Lascars near the Gothenburg docks. Johansen's widow provides Thurston with a manuscript written by her late husband, which reveals the fate of everyone aboard the Emma.
The uncharted island is described as "a coastline of mingled mud, ooze, and weedy Cyclopean masonry which can be nothing less than the tangible substance of earth's supreme terror—the nightmare corpse-city of R'lyeh".
The crew struggle in comprehending the non-Euclidean geometry of their surroundings. When one of the sailors accidentally opens a "monstrously carven portal", he releases Cthulhu:.
The stars were right again, and what an age-old cult had failed to do by design, a band of innocent sailors had done by accident.
After vigintillions of years, Great Cthulhu was loose again and ravening for delight. Before fleeing with his crewmembers, almost all of whom are killed, Johansen describes Cthulhu as "a mountain [that] walked or stumbled".
Johansen and a sailor named Briden climb aboard the yacht before sailing away. However, Cthulhu dives into the ocean and pursues their fleeing vessel.
Fortunately, Johansen turns his yacht around and rams it into the creature's head, which bursts with "a slushy nastiness as of a cloven sunfish "- only to immediately begin regenerating.
The Alert escapes from R'lyeh, with Briden having gone insane and dying soon afterwards. After finishing the manuscript, Thurston realizes he's now a possible target, thinking: "I know too much, and the cult still lives.
Lovecraft regarded the short story as "rather middling—not as bad as the worst, but full of cheap and cumbrous touches".
Weird Tales editor Farnsworth Wright first rejected the story, and only accepted it after writer Donald Wandrei , a friend of Lovecraft's, falsely claimed that Lovecraft was thinking of submitting it elsewhere.
The published story was regarded by Robert E. Howard the creator of Conan as "a masterpiece, which I am sure will live as one of the highest achievements of literature Lovecraft holds a unique position in the literary world; he has grasped, to all intents, the worlds outside our paltry ken".
French novelist Michel Houellebecq , in his book H. It is well that no explanation shall ever reach them. The press cuttings, as I have intimated, touched on cases of panic, mania, and eccentricity during the given period.
Professor Angell must have employed a cutting bureau, for the number of extracts was tremendous and the sources scattered throughout the globe.
Here was a nocturnal suicide in London, where a lone sleeper had leaped from a window after a shocking cry. Here likewise a rambling letter to the editor of a paper in South America, where a fanatic deduces a dire future from visions he has seen.
Voodoo orgies multiply in Hayti, and African outposts report ominous mutterings. American officers in the Philippines find certain tribes bothersome about this time, and New York policemen are mobbed by hysterical Levantines on the night of March 22— And so numerous are the recorded troubles in insane asylums, that only a miracle can have stopped the medical fraternity from noting strange parallelisms and drawing mystified conclusions.
A weird bunch of cuttings, all told; and I can at this date scarcely envisage the callous rationalism with which I set them aside.
But I was then convinced that young Wilcox had known of the older matters mentioned by the professor. The Tale of Inspector Legrasse.
The earlier experience had come in , seventeen years before, when the American Archaeological Society held its annual meeting in St.
Professor Angell, as befitted one of his authority and attainments, had had a prominent part in all the deliberations; and was one of the first to be approached by the several outsiders who took advantage of the convocation to offer questions for correct answering and problems for expert solution.
The chief of these outsiders, and in a short time the focus of interest for the entire meeting, was a commonplace-looking middle-aged man who had travelled all the way from New Orleans for certain special information unobtainable from any local source.
With him he bore the subject of his visit, a grotesque, repulsive, and apparently very ancient stone statuette whose origin he was at a loss to determine.
It must not be fancied that Inspector Legrasse had the least interest in archaeology. On the contrary, his wish for enlightenment was prompted by purely professional considerations.
The statuette, idol, fetish, or whatever it was, had been captured some months before in the wooded swamps south of New Orleans during a raid on a supposed voodoo meeting; and so singular and hideous were the rites connected with it, that the police could not but realise that they had stumbled on a dark cult totally unknown to them, and infinitely more diabolic than even the blackest of the African voodoo circles.
Of its origin, apart from the erratic and unbelievable tales extorted from the captured members, absolutely nothing was to be discovered; hence the anxiety of the police for any antiquarian lore which might help them to place the frightful symbol, and through it track down the cult to its fountain-head.
Inspector Legrasse was scarcely prepared for the sensation which his offering created. One sight of the thing had been enough to throw the assembled men of science into a state of tense excitement, and they lost no time in crowding around him to gaze at the diminutive figure whose utter strangeness and air of genuinely abysmal antiquity hinted so potently at unopened and archaic vistas.
No recognised school of sculpture had animated this terrible object, yet centuries and even thousands of years seemed recorded in its dim and greenish surface of unplaceable stone.
The figure, which was finally passed slowly from man to man for close and careful study, was between seven and eight inches in height, and of exquisitely artistic workmanship.
It represented a monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind.
This thing, which seemed instinct with a fearsome and unnatural malignancy, was of a somewhat bloated corpulence, and squatted evilly on a rectangular block or pedestal covered with undecipherable characters.
The tips of the wings touched the back edge of the block, the seat occupied the centre, whilst the long, curved claws of the doubled-up, crouching hind legs gripped the front edge and extended a quarter of the way down toward the bottom of the pedestal.
The aspect of the whole was abnormally life-like, and the more subtly fearful because its source was so totally unknown.
Totally separate and apart, its very material was a mystery; for the soapy, greenish-black stone with its golden or iridescent flecks and striations resembled nothing familiar to geology or mineralogy.
They, like the subject and material, belonged to something horribly remote and distinct from mankind as we know it; something frightfully suggestive of old and unhallowed cycles of life in which our world and our conceptions have no part.
Professor Webb had been engaged, forty-eight years before, in a tour of Greenland and Iceland in search of some Runic inscriptions which he failed to unearth; and whilst high up on the West Greenland coast had encountered a singular tribe or cult of degenerate Esquimaux whose religion, a curious form of devil-worship, chilled him with its deliberate bloodthirstiness and repulsiveness.
It was a faith of which other Esquimaux knew little, and which they mentioned only with shudders, saying that it had come down from horribly ancient aeons before ever the world was made.
Besides nameless rites and human sacrifices there were certain queer hereditary rituals addressed to a supreme elder devil or tornasuk; and of this Professor Webb had taken a careful phonetic copy from an aged angekok or wizard-priest, expressing the sounds in Roman letters as best he knew how.
But just now of prime significance was the fetish which this cult had cherished, and around which they danced when the aurora leaped high over the ice cliffs.
It was, the professor stated, a very crude bas-relief of stone, comprising a hideous picture and some cryptic writing.
And so far as he could tell, it was a rough parallel in all essential features of the bestial thing now lying before the meeting.
This data, received with suspense and astonishment by the assembled members, proved doubly exciting to Inspector Legrasse; and he began at once to ply his informant with questions.
Having noted and copied an oral ritual among the swamp cult-worshippers his men had arrested, he besought the professor to remember as best he might the syllables taken down amongst the diabolist Esquimaux.
There then followed an exhaustive comparison of details, and a moment of really awed silence when both detective and scientist agreed on the virtual identity of the phrase common to two hellish rituals so many worlds of distance apart.
It savoured of the wildest dreams of myth-maker and theosophist, and disclosed an astonishing degree of cosmic imagination among such half-castes and pariahs as might be least expected to possess it.
On November 1st, , there had come to the New Orleans police a frantic summons from the swamp and lagoon country to the south.
It was voodoo, apparently, but voodoo of a more terrible sort than they had ever known; and some of their women and children had disappeared since the malevolent tom-tom had begun its incessant beating far within the black haunted woods where no dweller ventured.
There were insane shouts and harrowing screams, soul-chilling chants and dancing devil-flames; and, the frightened messenger added, the people could stand it no more.
So a body of twenty police, filling two carriages and an automobile, had set out in the late afternoon with the shivering squatter as a guide.
At the end of the passable road they alighted, and for miles splashed on in silence through the terrible cypress woods where day never came. Ugly roots and malignant hanging nooses of Spanish moss beset them, and now and then a pile of dank stones or fragment of a rotting wall intensified by its hint of morbid habitation a depression which every malformed tree and every fungous islet combined to create.
At length the squatter settlement, a miserable huddle of huts, hove in sight; and hysterical dwellers ran out to cluster around the group of bobbing lanterns.
The muffled beat of tom-toms was now faintly audible far, far ahead; and a curdling shriek came at infrequent intervals when the wind shifted.
A reddish glare, too, seemed to filter through the pale undergrowth beyond endless avenues of forest night. Reluctant even to be left alone again, each one of the cowed squatters refused point-blank to advance another inch toward the scene of unholy worship, so Inspector Legrasse and his nineteen colleagues plunged on unguided into black arcades of horror that none of them had ever trod before.
The region now entered by the police was one of traditionally evil repute, substantially unknown and untraversed by white men.
There were legends of a hidden lake unglimpsed by mortal sight, in which dwelt a huge, formless white polypous thing with luminous eyes; and squatters whispered that bat-winged devils flew up out of caverns in inner earth to worship it at midnight.
It was nightmare itself, and to see it was to die. But it made men dream, and so they knew enough to keep away. The present voodoo orgy was, indeed, on the merest fringe of this abhorred area, but that location was bad enough; hence perhaps the very place of the worship had terrified the squatters more than the shocking sounds and incidents.
There are vocal qualities peculiar to men, and vocal qualities peculiar to beasts; and it is terrible to hear the one when the source should yield the other.
Animal fury and orgiastic licence here whipped themselves to daemoniac heights by howls and squawking ecstasies that tore and reverberated through those nighted woods like pestilential tempests from the gulfs of hell.
Four of them reeled, one fainted, and two were shaken into a frantic cry which the mad cacophony of the orgy fortunately deadened.
Legrasse dashed swamp water on the face of the fainting man, and all stood trembling and nearly hypnotised with horror.
On this now leaped and twisted a more indescribable horde of human abnormality than any but a Sime or an Angarola could paint.
Void of clothing, this hybrid spawn were braying, bellowing, and writhing about a monstrous ring-shaped bonfire; in the centre of which, revealed by occasional rifts in the curtain of flame, stood a great granite monolith some eight feet in height; on top of which, incongruous with its diminutiveness, rested the noxious carven statuette.
From a wide circle of ten scaffolds set up at regular intervals with the flame-girt monolith as a centre hung, head downward, the oddly marred bodies of the helpless squatters who had disappeared.
It was inside this circle that the ring of worshippers jumped and roared, the general direction of the mass motion being from left to right in endless Bacchanal between the ring of bodies and the ring of fire.
It may have been only imagination and it may have been only echoes which induced one of the men, an excitable Spaniard, to fancy he heard antiphonal responses to the ritual from some far and unillumined spot deeper within the wood of ancient legendry and horror.
This man, Joseph D. Galvez, I later met and questioned; and he proved distractingly imaginative. He indeed went so far as to hint of the faint beating of great wings, and of a glimpse of shining eyes and a mountainous white bulk beyond the remotest trees—but I suppose he had been hearing too much native superstition.
Actually, the horrified pause of the men was of comparatively brief duration. Duty came first; and although there must have been nearly a hundred mongrel celebrants in the throng, the police relied on their firearms and plunged determinedly into the nauseous rout.
For five minutes the resultant din and chaos were beyond description. Wild blows were struck, shots were fired, and escapes were made; but in the end Legrasse was able to count some forty-seven sullen prisoners, whom he forced to dress in haste and fall into line between two rows of policemen.
Five of the worshippers lay dead, and two severely wounded ones were carried away on improvised stretchers by their fellow-prisoners.
The image on the monolith, of course, was carefully removed and carried back by Legrasse. Examined at headquarters after a trip of intense strain and weariness, the prisoners all proved to be men of a very low, mixed-blooded, and mentally aberrant type.
Most were seamen, and a sprinkling of negroes and mulattoes, largely West Indians or Brava Portuguese from the Cape Verde Islands, gave a colouring of voodooism to the heterogeneous cult.
But before many questions were asked, it became manifest that something far deeper and older than negro fetichism was involved.
Degraded and ignorant as they were, the creatures held with surprising consistency to the central idea of their loathsome faith.
They worshipped, so they said, the Great Old Ones who lived ages before there were any men, and who came to the young world out of the sky.
Those Old Ones were gone now, inside the earth and under the sea; but their dead bodies had told their secrets in dreams to the first men, who formed a cult which had never died.
Some day he would call, when the stars were ready, and the secret cult would always be waiting to liberate him.
Meanwhile no more must be told. There was a secret which even torture could not extract. Mankind was not absolutely alone among the conscious things of earth, for shapes came out of the dark to visit the faithful few.
But these were not the Great Old Ones. No man had ever seen the Old Ones. The carven idol was great Cthulhu, but none might say whether or not the others were precisely like him.
No one could read the old writing now, but things were told by word of mouth. The chanted ritual was not the secret—that was never spoken aloud, only whispered.
All denied a part in the ritual murders, and averred that the killing had been done by Black Winged Ones which had come to them from their immemorial meeting-place in the haunted wood.
But of those mysterious allies no coherent account could ever be gained. What the police did extract, came mainly from an immensely aged mestizo named Castro, who claimed to have sailed to strange ports and talked with undying leaders of the cult in the mountains of China.
Old Castro remembered bits of hideous legend that paled the speculations of theosophists and made man and the world seem recent and transient indeed.
There had been aeons when other Things ruled on the earth, and They had had great cities. Remains of Them, he said the deathless Chinamen had told him, were still to be found as Cyclopean stones on islands in the Pacific.
They all died vast epochs of time before men came, but there were arts which could revive Them when the stars had come round again to the right positions in the cycle of eternity.
They had, indeed, come themselves from the stars, and brought Their images with Them. These Great Old Ones, Castro continued, were not composed altogether of flesh and blood.
They had shape—for did not this star-fashioned image prove it? When the stars were right, They could plunge from world to world through the sky; but when the stars were wrong, They could not live.