Reincarnated Cthulhu - Chapter 1

Let me complain about my 40 years of life

Greetings, dear readers of my psyche.

‘Tis an unexpected intrusion, but I crave your attention for a tale of mine. Let me weave the web of who I am and the dire circumstances that have driven me to pour my heart to the readers within my own mind.

First and foremost, I suspect I may have been reborn into a different time or realm. Nay, scratch that. I am sure of it.

I shall elaborate on this matter anon, for it is a crucial part of my story. In my previous life, ere I perished, I dwelt in the land of Korea, situated in the 21st century.

Yet now, I find myself in London, the capital of England, in the 19th century.

This land feels more like home to me than my native Seoul, for my current existence spans a longer time.

I was birthed in 1855, the third offspring of a disgraced baronial lineage. As my former life’s English was deficient, I began speaking when I turned three.

Once I comprehended my situation, I pledged myself to a solitary goal: to survive.

Victorian London? A time of Belle Epoque, replete with love and romance, perchance?

As an aristocrat, I should have lived a privileged life, you say?

You can scarcely fathom the absurdity of such notions until you have endured it yourself.

Imagine, if you will, an era where industrialization plunged the lower classes’ human rights to their nadir.

An epoch where wars ravaged the world due to rampant imperialism, and medical facilities were at their lowest ebb.

What do you suppose became of a fallen noble in such dire times?

The term “aristocrat” signified ownership of land, yet nary a whiff of any land deeds tainted with wealth reached my humble abode.

I toiled relentlessly to survive. As a native of Korea from the 21st century, I believed that academic success and professional qualifications were inseparable. Thus, I devoted myself to learning.

I immersed myself in my studies with great fervor, for I knew that education was the key to survival in this world.

It was an insurance policy against the cruel whims of fate. My first brother had lived a life of madness, and my second brother had been a slave to the bank since he was young.

But I was different. I was stubborn and determined to obtain a university diploma, even if it meant bowing my head to my parents and my second brother.

First brother? I didn’t care about him.

As a result of my hard work and dedication, I was loved by my professors and received a letter of recommendation that helped me volunteer for the military.

It was the best way to become an Officer in the Aristocratic society, and it did not disappoint. My four-year career as a naval officer strengthened my status in society, and I was on track to climb even higher. But fate had other plans. In a battle, my leg was blown away, and my naval career was cut short.

Following my honorable discharge from military service, I indulged in a year of revelry and feasting before deciding to embark on a new path as an explorer.

Did I decide it out of the blue?

Well…. I actually did.

“It’s not even hard. You can just write down what you saw after going abroad for two to three years. Explorers make loads of money these days – Like that guy named Charles Darwin.” 

After hearing those words, I went out to the harbor the next day and decided on the date of departure.

Yes, I was ignorant.

Fortune smiled upon me, for as an officer I secured a place on a ship sailing towards the Dark Continent as a researcher.

Curiously, this was one of the many aspects that diverged from my memories of my previous life.

The Dark Continent, which referred to Africa, remained shrouded in mystery and unexplored until the rise of the Industrial Revolution.

In any case, my reckless journey lasted for about four years, during which I faced countless dangers and witnessed unspeakable horrors. I contracted malaria and spent months recovering in my hometown, contemplating the fickle nature of fate and the inevitability of death.

But miraculously I recovered, maybe due to the pity of God.

Having regained enough strength to hold a pen, I put my experiences and learnings into several tomes.

The outcome of my efforts earned me the status of a veritable celebrity in England. My alma mater granted me an honorary doctorate, which I could never have earned through my mental faculties alone.

Moreover, the medal I received in exchange for my lost limb in the army secured me a full pension.

The book royalties were not much, but they were steady. The doctorate opened the floodgates of lecture requests, thereby ensuring an additional income.

After years of toil, I believed that I had reached the threshold of immortality, and that it was time to enjoy a leisurely life.

Even with my middling fortune, I deemed it impossible to surpass my current station. I relinquished my rented attic and relocated to an apartment in London.

This was my life, and I am sure that you can gather its essence. The year was 1895, and the 20th century was looming on the horizon.

I believed that I had made sufficient preparations for the tumultuous era to come, and that I was in a phase of life that could weather it.

However, I shall desist from my tedious moaning and commence the critical narrative, which will include the reason why I am compelled to prattle to readers who may or may not exist in my head.

Where shall I start? Yes, I will recount it as a novel. Thus, let us begin…

It all began with a letter from an old acquaintance, Arthur.

————-

My esteemed Philemon,

I do hope this missive finds you hale and hearty. Verily, had I a guinea for every time your name hath graced mine ears these past years, I wouldst have amassed a fortune sufficient to demolish your very roof and raise up in its stead a more stately abode.

However, I trust that thou art well, and my musings upon thy welfare are naught but superfluous.

I beg thy pardon, dear friend, for any impertinence which mayst have found its way into this letter. To compose this epistle, I have even consulted a volume entitled “Epistolary Etiquette: Crafting Correspondence with Elegance and Respect,” so as to ensure that my words are proper and decorous.

I am certain that thou art not interested in the current state of the weather or the verdure of my garden, and thus I shall spare thee such details.

As for myself, I find that I have been occupied with great industry of late. Our years of labor have culminated in a momentous discovery which shall surely prove most valuable to our ongoing research. I must extend to thee my deepest gratitude, for thou art the catalyst for my daily jubilations.

In all candor, my intent in penning this letter is to solicit thy aid. I require the assistance of a learned individual, one of the highest academic and intellectual caliber, possessed of both a vast knowledge of the world and the unyielding fortitude of a soldier. Thou art the very embodiment of these qualities, and it is with great urgency that I beseech thy help.

I shall not squander thy precious time with extraneous details in this letter, but I implore thee to grant me an audience at thy earliest convenience, so that we may speak in person. The location of thy estate remains unchanged, forsooth – though it is not blessed with legs.

In earnest anticipation of thy swift and favorable reply, I remain,

Thy devoted friend,

Arthur.

________

With great effort, I finished reading the last sentence of the letter, struggling to decipher the illegible handwriting.

I let out a weary sigh and rubbed my face, frustrated with the mess before me.

Arthur Frank. I had known him since our days in college, but twenty years later, I had never expected to hear from him again.

What manner of man was he, I wondered. To describe him in a single sentence, one might say that he was a dreamer with a childlike selfishness, a feline curiosity, and an endless stream of dreams, all fueled by a vast inherited fortune.

Can you fathom such a person? Perhaps not. Having spent my student days with him, I had often suspected that he was a figure from my wildest dreams.

Kindly, he had enclosed a photograph with the letter.

After studying it for five minutes, I gave up trying to discern what the black-and-white picture portrayed.

It appeared to be a statue in the likeness of a seated figure, with the subject indistinct due to the camera’s shake.

“These days, there are cameras that capture images instantly when you press the button,” I muttered to myself.

Arthur was always taken with the latest advancements in culture. He would still be using an antiquated camera that required several minutes of waiting before an image could be captured.

Nowadays, cameras that could snap a picture in seconds and were easy to carry were readily available.

The marvels of technological progress are truly astonishing. It is a wonder to behold how far we have come in such a short span of time.

Yet, my mind is a reflection of the age I live in, despite having witnessed the advent of smartphones in my past life.

“This is pointless,” I muttered, shaking my head at the photograph before me.

My housekeeper, Marie, appeared at the door, curious about my mutterings.

“What troubles you, Master?” she inquired.

“An old acquaintance of mine has played a cruel joke on me by sending a photograph I cannot decipher,” I explained.

“A photograph you couldn’t see?”

“Verily, his photographic skills are appalling. Can you divine what this is?” I queried, proffering her the photograph with scant expectation. “Don’t it appear as a figure of a statue of a person, pray tell?”

“Pray tell, sir?” Marie asked with a peculiar tone. “‘Tis nothing resembling a human form in my eyes.”

“Nay, Marie, do you not perceive? It is plain as day, a human figure it is. Observe the limbs, the arms, the legs…”

I picked up the picture with my finger and pointed at it, while Marie wrinkled her eyebrows as if she couldn’t comprehend my words.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I cannot presume to be more intelligent than you.”

“Pray, do not hesitate any longer. Speak thy mind forthwith. I am not, as the public would have thee believe, possessed of great wit and acumen, and furthermore, I confess to being utterly ignorant of the subject matter at hand.”

“Please forgive me, sir, but doesn’t the master often contradict me whenever I express my thoughts?”

“Pray, let us discuss the matter at hand. I shall offer my apologies for thwarting your endeavor to create a tart pie. I shall partake of it, if that pleases you.”

Marie and I engaged in a silent struggle, each trying to outwit the other.

She had the notion that I was an exceedingly finicky eater, and to a certain extent, her conjecture was not entirely unfounded.

I had spent more time in this foreign realm than in my former existence, yet there was one aspect that still left me feeling disoriented – the culinary customs.

Having indulged in an array of modern delicacies, the consumption of the unsophisticated English fare that prevailed during the 19th century proved to be a rather unpalatable experience for my taste buds.

“Very well, sir. The reason why I don’t think it is a person is because of its… head.”

“Head?”

My eyes followed Marie’s fingers.

“If it were a person, this would be the head, would it not?”

“Yes.”

“However, a person’s head is not so large or distorted.”

As I pondered her words, a revelation struck me like a bolt of lightning.

In my previous life, I had been exposed to a plethora of diverse art forms, from the most fantastical to the most mundane, thanks to the marvels of modern media such as comics and cartoons.

But for the people of this era, their exposure to such visual extravaganzas was severely limited.

Paintings were their only recourse, but even then, the notion of cartoons and caricatures was viewed with disdain, reserved only for the common rabble.

As a result, the very concept of what constituted a “human” differed greatly from that of my former time.

While the limbs on this entity were distinctly human-like, the size and distorted shape of its head cast doubt on its identity.

Perhaps the creator was from an even earlier time than the present.

This revelation was a most unexpected twist, one that forced me to reconsider everything I had previously believed about this curious creation.

“You’re right, Marie.”

“Master, it’s rare for you to admit to being wrong.”

Marie’s countenance was struck with astonishment upon hearing my reply.

Let it not be misconstrued by my esteemed readers that my mental faculties are impaired, for I am a most magnanimous and receptive gentleman.

With that said, I retrieved the photograph from Marie’s possession and returned it to its enclosure.

“Marie, I’m going out.”

“Will you be coming in late, Master?”

“It is likely a fair distance, hence it is improbable that I shall return today. Perhaps I shall have to spend the night there.”

“Will you be taking the train, Master?”

“No, not that far. I’m going to take a carriage.”

“Good for you, Master.”

In a state of confusion, I pondered Marie’s words, [Good for you, Master?]

What did she mean by that? The feeling of unease only intensified, and I rose from my seat with the aid of my walking stick.

Marie approached, holding my long coat out for me to don.

I took my hat and placed it on my head before making my way to the porch, Marie following closely behind.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me, and I turned back to face her.

“When you go back…” I trailed off, unsure of how to articulate my concerns.

Without missing a beat, Marie reassured me, “I’ll lock the doors, and I’ll check the chimneys.”

“And the windows…” I continued, my distress growing more palpable by the moment.

“I’ll close them and draw the curtains out,” she replied with a calm demeanor.

With a heavy heart, I slammed the door behind me and made my way outside.

Despite my worries, let it be known that I am a very kind and open-minded person. I pray that there is no misunderstanding.

I strode forth with purpose towards the dwelling of Arthur Frank, yet little did I know that my misstep would bring about a profound alteration in the course of my life.

Alas, it was not long before I realized my error and retraced my steps.

With renewed determination, I marched in the proper direction towards Frank’s abode, still unaware of the momentous shift that awaited me.