Friends, some of you have expressed concern about my downstairs neighbor, Mr Herschell, after I happened to shove him into an infernal gateway to the watery hell of Yaddith-Gho.

First of all, let me reiterate that I was not in control of my body at the time. I was under the influence of an evil jellyfish, calling himself Cthulhu, who temporarily took command of my body by fusing with my nervous system.

Secondly, I’d like to point out that the supernatural portal was opened up by none other than Mr Herschell himself, and while he may appear to be a helpless old man of approximately 85 years of age, Mr Herschell is a radical devotee of an occult order committed to re-awakening a group of god-like extraterrestrials known as the Great Old Ones.

Nevertheless, I can confidently report that Mr Herschell is fine and well in his new oceanic home. In fact, I have received a letter from Mr Herschell, delivered to me this morning by a black albatross. This is what it says (by the way, I apologize in advance for Mr Herschell’s vulgarity and seething tone):

Dear Fuckface,

I cannot begin to tell you how much I despise you. Your bulbous nose and scruffy beard only deepen my incredulity that Cthulhu would choose you as a host. Nonetheless, being his unquestioning devotee, I can only assume that his decision was the right one.

The underwater prison beneath Mount Yaddith-Gho really isn’t all that bad. It’s far from hospitable to the human organism, but for a drowned world, it could be worse. I have been able to survive by making a blood pact with the undead corpse of a German Submarine Captain, who himself is only clinging to the vestiges of life because of an experimental occult technology that was used to power his U-boat without his knowledge.

Given the gift of gills, and with the increased vitality that comes with being exposed to whatever great power this place emanates, I’m feeling better than I have in decades. In some strange way, you may have done me a favor. Still, that doesn’t excuse you for being a wretched meddler in the cosmic order and obstacle to the reawakening of the Great Old Ones.

I shall be returning at the earliest possible opportunity to wreak my revenge and (This portion of the letter is unreadable due to a brown water stain and running ink.)

Sincerely,

Mr Hendrik “Henny” Herschell, MOccultSci
High Priest of the Lovecraftian Lore Society

P.S. Please feed my goldfish and tell him I won’t be coming home for a while. The key is above the door.

P.P.S Don’t touch any of my books!

The letter doesn’t have a return address on it and the albatross is long gone now. So, I’m not sure you have access to the internet where you are, Mr Herschell, especially since news of Cthulhu’s demise has, apparently, not yet reached you, but if you’re reading this: I’m sorry that you’ve ended up imprisoned under Mount Yaddith-Gho on the sunken continent of Mu. I’ll take care of your goldfish for as long as you’re away on condition that you promise not to involve me, or my cat, in any more of your dark rituals.

I’m off to feed your goldfish now. Goodbye.

Help me shoulder the burden of keeping Mr Herschell’s goldfish alive by buying a copy of my book and signing up to my newsletter for updates. I had no idea fish food was so expensive! Did you?