Tentacles

Jonathon couldn’t believe his eyes, nor comprehend what was in front of them. The vast array of information squirming there, under his microscope, was of such a horrific proportion he had little more facility than to wonder at it slack jawed.

“I’m not sure what the future holds,” he spoke into his recorder, “but what I do know is if these ancient beings are to return to earth, if they haven’t already, then this world is not one for man. Surely we will die.” The little tentacle moved under the microscope, cells regenerating as Jonathon turned off the tape.

Science was not prepared for such a creature. It was a squid, in its way, with eyes like that of a man, though they were black as night. The skin was hard enough he went through four scalpels to make the slightest incision to expose a strange, silver liquid. Further testing revealed it was indeed mercury, mixed with some unknown substance so that the fluid metal would flow through the veins of this great creature.

Judging by the small samples he was able to procure, the beast was easily twenty stories high. It looked as if the squid portion was little more than a head to a greater beast, though only a head he was given. The nervous system almost seemed to still respond, as every cut was met by a tendril wrapping itself around the razor and climbing up his fingers, though the grip was weak. Considering the muscle mass on each tentacle, easily it could have crushed his finger until it ripped from his hand, but the beast was no longer sentient, just capable of movement. It was still phenomenal.

A pile of paperwork was completed and put aside on Jonathon’s desk. It was late, the moon high in the sky, though invisible. The sun was completing its journey somewhere around the Middle East, maybe western Asia. There was an empty bed awaiting Jonathon, one which would sooth his aching body, which had worked without reprieve since the finding had been discovered on his desk. It was classified on many levels. There were countless demands of him and what he had to accomplish. No time was allocated to him. But his findings were solid, despite the brevity of his work.

The lights were turned off and the exhausted man made his way to the door, but as he did, he could here something slither, wet and thick, moving over sterile metal until it stopped. It was just my imagination, Jonathon thought, until not a second later he heard a plop upon the floor, followed by more slithering. There was panic, but only for a moment, as soon a warmth, wetness, and muscles moved up his calf. For in that moment, Jonathon went catatonic with fear, the final thought rushing out his briefly sane skull being “At least I’ll go first when the world goes mad.”

The following day, Jonathon killed every researcher in his building and wrote upon the walls, using the abundant blood at his disposal, “Ry’thul has risen.”

Name that influence! Happy Halloween.

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