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About Deviant Member Bruce MunroMale/United States Group :iconalternate-history: Alternate-History
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This account is a storage spot for my alternate history maps. I also have started putting up "Alien Space Bat scenario" (fantasy settings) writings in a seperate "ASB" folder, and more recently some doodles.

PS - to see all the map deviations in my gallery, hit "browse": for some reason some don't show up otherwise, although they aren't in seperate folders.


Have neglected putting anything here, so I thought I'd start adding: alternate history maps by others, some Anime pics, odds and ends...


Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: violence/gore)
And some more Hodgman (… )Ancient and Unspeakable Ones.

Anonymous is both nameless and indescribable, and indeed cannot be named anything but “it”, “the nameless” or “anonymous”: any other name applied to Anonymous will be rapidly and permanently forgotten. Those who have seen it report a “presence”, but are unable to give a name to it or any of its attributes. Nor can they describe which way it was going or where it came from. Anonymous is most tracked through absences: people who are too close to it lose their names – not only do they forget their own names, but so does everyone else, and if their name is written anywhere, people become unable to process the information when they look at it. (Citizens who suddenly lose their ability to remember the names of friends or relatives are to report this to their local Abomination Control office: efforts are being made to make sense of Anonymous’ seemingly random pattern of appearances in hopes of tracking Anonymous). In many cases the person will forget the names of other objects or concrete concepts, and in worst-case encounters will lose labels for everything, effectively losing the ability to use nouns, although they can still communicate to some extent with the use of verbs and adjectives.

Reports on this entity are variable, with different individuals reporting different visual characteristics: it is always a large dog, varying from roughly German shepherd sized to that of a pony, but at times it is reported to be black (regular or a shape so black that no details can be distinguished) at others white or with coloration similar to a Husky; it’s eyes have been reported to be yellow, red, blue, or black voids, to glow and to not glow. Teeth may be reported as normal dog teeth, reptile-like fangs, or oversized human teeth. Film or photographs show a roughly dog-shaped, jagged, angular, skeletal thing, burning with blue flames. Whether this is its “real appearance” or not remains a disputed question. Devil Dog is nocturnal, spends the night wandering around urban or rural locations, and disappears at dawn. It has been reported world-wide.

Devil Dog usually only physically attacks people if they closely approach it or its wanderings intersect their position, but physical attacks are the least of it. If the Devil Dog looks into someone’s eyes, that person or one of their immediate family will drop dead for no discernable cause after a random period of time: initial analysis of death times indicates that the period may be a random fraction of a year, but data is not yet sufficient. [1] If Devil Dog has gazed into your eyes, one can apparently keep ones loved ones safe by running at Devil Dog: if Devil Dog is approached within three meters, it will tear you to pieces, and nobody who has perished in this manner has later lost relatives to DDSDS[2]. Seeing the Devil Dog’s eyes is not fatal in itself if the Dog does not in turn look at you, but simply looking at the Dog, whether the eyes are seen or not, will bring on a series of gruesome nightmares in which the Dog chases you down and devours you alive, with the time for which the nightmares continue seemingly dependent on how clear a look one got: some people have been suffering for months. Similar if somewhat less severe effects result from studying film or photographs of Devil Dog.
Devil Dog is apparently non-material, in spite of the effectiveness of its teeth, physical violence being ineffectual, but it can be forced to disappear early and not appear until next night with sufficiently bright light or intense ultraviolet, and seems to dislike spherical or curved objects, usually not attacking really fat people and shying away from soccer balls or the like. This may be related to the fact that Devil Dog, in those instances it is observed appearing, seems to emerge from within angles, whether that between two walls or intersections with sharp-edged corners. (It usually does not enter into houses or buildings unless the door is open, but at times has materialized within someone’s house at the angle between two walls, and exited by passing through an interior angle and emerging from an external one.) Currently attempts are being made to trap Devil Dog in a special spherical container, or as the more immature members of Abomination Control insist on calling it, “the Pokeball.”
[1] Apologies to the SCP people, but they were stealing from actual myths themselves in this case.
[2] Devil Dog Sudden Death Syndrome.

This creature appears in the form of a pallid, blotchy-skinned old lady with vaguely Asian features dressed in “street person couture”, muttering to herself and pushing a shopping cart full of grocery bags. Some of these grocery bags are knotted closed and have a swollen or inflated look. In the daytime, she is often seen in grubby stores buying minute purchases and insisting on them being double-bagged. The actual contents are usually tossed into nearby dumpsters and the bags added to the collection. This would not normally come to the attention of AC, save that a CCT camera in Hong Kong showed “her” being harassed by a couple roughs: she then seemingly inflated, while the young men staggered and collapsed. She then blew out into a couple of bags and knotted them shut.

Examination of the bodies showed them to still be alive, but exhibiting no mental activity above the most basic, comparable to long-term coma victims with severe cerebral cortex degeneration, although nothing actually physically wrong could be detected. Tracing former appearances revealed dozens of such cases, and it was determined that the coins with which It made Its purchases tended to dissolve into puddles of gritty slime after a few days. Further studies indicate that It generally only “sucks out the souls” of those who attack or harass It, although occasionally it takes the consciousness of sick and elderly street people. On the other hand, the fact that Tonko usually appears in poor and dangerous neighborhoods at night seems to imply an effort to attract “prey.” Tracking Tonko is impossible, since It disappears at intervals by walking straight into solid walls and not appearing on the other side.

As long as no hostility is shown, it is safe to talk to It, although by and large It is quite uninformative: Tonko can speak idiomatically the language of whoever talks to her, but tends to mumble, go off on incoherent if vaguely terrifying tangents, and randomly switch to incomprehensible languages. About all that can clearly be determined are Its name, Tonko, and the fact that It is collecting things for a “rainy day.” Violence is not recommended at present: due to Its exclusively urban manifestations and constant mobility, weapons of mass destruction are impractical, and lesser weapons such as RPGs are stopped by what appears to be a force field, such attacks being rapidly followed by the soul-sucking of personnel involved in the attack. (Running is useless, since Tonko will just push its cart into the nearest wall and emerge from another right in front of you). Self-sacrificing experiments with knives and handguns seem to indicate Tonko is rather larger on the inside than on the outside, and may lack anything resembling blood.

The contents of Its shopping cart are apparently just the tip of an iceberg, and Tonko may have been active much longer than the 2012 Apocalypse season: agent “Tsien” (actual name kept private) of the Chinese security forces managed to patiently befriend Tonko to the extent of being shown her “collection” and led through a wall. He emerged from another wall several miles away and an hour later suffering from severe hunger, thirst and the effects of cold and damp, claiming that he had been lost for several days in a vast maze of cold, damp passages apparently made of mud and piled high with bags, boxes, purses, jugs, bottles, sacks, baskets, small amphorae, etc. before Tonko found him again and chided him for “wandering off.” He claimed that a small percentage of these containers, but still “countless thousands”, contained something which moaned or shrieked or gibbered softly. He was reticent about describing what happened when he tried opening one of them, but later while feverish he spoke of something with “bubbled” and “flowed” or “flopped” on the ground, something “white” and “rotting yet moving.”

The infection which killed him and three of the hospital staff is as yet unidentified.

This mysterious and nameless entity, also referred to as The King in Gym Shorts, operated by showing up at sessions of aerobics, yoga, pilates, etc. and claiming to be a substitute for the usual instructor (none of which, or their bodies, have ever been found) and promised an “exciting new routine.” It took on a human appearance, although nobody has ever been clearly describe “him” beyond “middle aged, but fit”, details varying wildly. Those who took part in the classes would begin a series of stretching and bending exercises, simple at first but increasing in complexity and difficulties: however, the instructor would be enthusiastic and supportive, and before long the members of the class would find themselves stretching and bending further and more easily than ever before.

At some point, the doors to the place where the exercise was taking place would become impossible to open, essentially cutting the exercise area off from the outside world until the conclusion of the “session.”Later, after the instructor had left, the doors would return to normal and very exercised participants would be discovered all still in the same room, being quite unable to get up or even move aside from some slight twitching, their bodies distorted and their limbs bent and stretched and folded back on themselves in ways that normally would be impossible for human anatomy. Photographs of the scene show that the bodies of the participants form some sort of geometric pattern on the floor, but whether this indicates some sort of mystical ritual or just some sort of horrible art work remains unknown. In some cases massive surgical intervention has allowed some of the victims to return to something like a normal life, but in most severe disabilities are permanent.

A massive information and warning program world-wide seems to have led to abatement of “workouts from hell”: much to government and AC relief, being informed that nobody wanted to do its program did not lead to any massacres, but “Pilates” simply departing immediately. In a few cases brave fitness folks tried to stall it by starting the program while others secretly called the Police and Abomination Control, but The King in Gym Shorts always slipped away before authorities arrived. The “man” hunt continues.

Addendum: in mid-Novemember, “Pilates” began appearing in the role of a substitute gym teacher in High, Middle and Elementary schools.

Sigmund is a sickly green in color, with multiple long tentacles around It’s head, a growth of seaweed-like green tendrils extending down it’s back, and great bulging googly-eyes. It can rear up to heights of some 35 feet and some inches above the water, but its actual length is unclear, it’s body trailing off for an indefinite distance. It can appear out of any body of water bigger than a kiddie pool.

Sigmund will attempt to lure people to join It on a “magical adventure” in exchange for wealth, treasure, or magical gadets like a propeller beanie allowing one to fly, but one should attempt to excuse oneself. If you are able to come up with a sufficiently convincing excuse to beg off, Sigmund may simply leave, but in spite of Its demeanor of good-natured goofyness, Sigmund is in fact clever and insightful into human behavior, and if not satisfied, you will be kidnapped by some of Sigmund’s minions in the name of “fun, fun, fun”, renamed Cabin Boy (apparently Sigmund is gender-blind), and taken aboard a moist and reeking flying boat. It is recommended that people contacted by Sigmund attempt to stall long enough for local authorities to arrive.

Few of those who have gone off on these adventures have survived to return, and those who return often return with bizarre and horrible injuries and terribly disturbed sanity, but from scattered reports these usually start as wacky fun in a cartoonish reality, but grow increasingly strange and disturbing as time progresses. The adventures usually involve some sort of contest between Sigmund and It’s minions and either a group of hideous tentacled monsters with reality-warping abilities vaguely resembling Sigmund, or a thin, long-toothed humanoid dressed in black called John Ooze. It becomes increasingly hard to tell who is the “good guy” in this situation as everything becomes increasingly dangerous and distorted, with Sigmund becoming eventually almost impossible to look at and John Ooze turning into some sort of horrible half-machine octopus or a giant stinging insect.

Sigmund’s minions include (and this is a far from a complete list) a talking lion-like creature whose normal mouth is replaced by a giant sucking hole as the trip proceeds, the bearded and monstrously bloated “captain”(which usually spends his time locked in a coffin), a clown (which always dies sometime early in the trip), the terrifying Housekeeper, a bloody red skeleton, an increasingly putrefied and uncoordinated skinless dog , and the monstrous Happy Brothers.

Sigmund has on several occasions been caught while manifesting itself by local military forces and Abomination Control, but so far has proven hard to kill, having survived being burned alive, decapitated, and blown to bits. Efforts by the Trans-Dimensional Corp led by Keziah Mason III to penetrate Sigmund’s dimension have so far led to the horrible transmogrification of a number of personnel, but as yet no successful off-Earth interception of Sigmund.

This particular Ancient and Unspeakable one is not currently menacing anyone, since it was discovered sealed in an improbably huge block of amber in the basement of the Boston museum. White, bloated, and with terrible staring red bulbs of eyes, the Worm was put on public display for a while, but Abomination Control has since succeeded in having it moved to Security Site C, where the block of amber has in turn been sealed in fifteen feet of steel rebar-reinforced concrete inscribed all over with the Elder Sign. Cultists warn that this will not help when Its Time Comes Around at Last, but you know. Cultists.

More exactly, the Cat in the Wall of the Three Stags’ Head Pub, Wardlow Mires, England. It starts whining and howling around midnight and keeps it up till dawn. This in of itself would not make it an Ancient and Unspeakable one rather than a rather annoying haunting, save for the fact when a hole was cut in the wall in an attempt to see if there was a physical source, it was discovered that there was more than one cat. Removing part of the wall revealed an intergrown mass of black, writhing cats varying in size from mouse size to dog size, all howling and shrieking in perfect chorus. Investigatory borings revealed the mass of cats extended at least 80 feet beyond where the outer wall should be before the tunnel collapsed and filled up with more cats, with one of the investigative personnel swallowed up beyond retrieval. After a massive cleaning job to remove the debris from the excavation the wall was resealed and people tried not to think too much about it, although the report from the investigation, which included the fact that the aforementioned debris began generating new cats after a while until it was burned, led the UK government to retarget certain nuclear assets on Wardlow Mires.

A giant, hermaphroditic penis-shaped fish covered with multiple extensible piercing spermataphores and a life-cycle too gross for this report writer to go into [1], Dickfish first appeared in the Chinese Yangtze river system, from where it somehow fled to the Congolese river system when things got “too hot”, and finally moved to the US Mississippi basin, where it was finally destroyed, apparently, with massive depth charges: it has at least not reappeared. However, the fallout remains, with extensive regions of Canada and the US, central Africa and continental East Asia infested with the Spawn of Dickfish. Rather going into the really, really disgusting details, the writer urges you to just stay out of the water.
[1] Imagine starting with “massive penis trauma” and working your way downhill from there.

Addendum 1: the tourist bureau would like to point out that Dickfish dislikes chlorine and salt, so oceans, well-maintained swimming pools, and the Dead Sea are OK.

Addendum 2: all fisherman who catch what they believe is Dickfish spawn are urged to under no circumstances touch it without heavy protective gloves, to never eat it, to never let any other living creature above the size of the adult US squash bug (Anasa tristis) touch or eat it, and preferably to rapidly burn it using plenty of accelerants which can be squirted on with no risk of accidental contact. (Destroying Dickfish Spawn is more important than any mere third-degree burns, Mr. Lack of Sense of Proportion).

Th’yl-Kjull looks mostly like a floating partly deflated balloon the size of a skyscraper made of scabs and open lesions, dotted with bulging eyes and with multiple dangling insectile limbs. It tends to fade randomly in and out of existence, and is often only dimly seen. In this form it is non-material and hard to effect in any way, but on occasion it’s many eyes will focus on someone, and it will become more solid, real and visible (and hideous). Th’yl-Kjull will then vomit huge amounts of dark green slime out of its sagging, shapeless slit of a mouth, liberally coating it’s victim (and, on average, half an acre) with the slime. The victim will then fall into a deep coma-like state which will last a day and a night (bystanders not targeted by Th’yl-Kjull will not experience this, merely having all their body hair fall off, their skins bleached, and their wardrobes ruined).

Victims will during their coma period undergo tribulations depending on their sins and their perception of the same: people who deep down believe they should be punished for their misdeeds will experience the punishment their believe they deserve, while those who do not feel guilt will be punished for their actual criminal or cruel acts as they think other people should be punished for them.

In those cases where victims experience a jail term, they will experience the entire length of the term, as much as hundreds of years, but will not physically age as a result, although mental damage is often severe: where punishment is lethal, or permanently crippling, the victim will physically reflect the act, with a trip to the guillotine accompanied by their actual head detaching from their body. In the cases of victims with particularly sadistic or masochistic imaginations, the results do not bear viewing.

(Since many victims have been guilty of nothing more than severe self-hatred, some suggest Th’yl-Kjull lacks a proper understanding of the human mind. Others suggest Th’yl-Kjull is just a dick).

Since it fully materializes to attack, Th’yl-Kjull can be damaged at this time, and although so far damage has been limited to blowing gooshy holes in it (which will have regenerated into new configurations of warts, lesions, and eyeballs by the next time It appears), this does at least seem to delay It’s next manifestation. Chunks of Th’yl-Kjull should be avoided, since contact with them often leads to hideous, warty mutations and distortions of the flesh. The public can take steps to help themselves: Th’yl-Kjull can be dealt with simply by staying out of Its drift path, since it never targets people more than 150 meters from directly beneath It. Stay alert for any Abomination warning and sirens and check your phone, TV, or computer for details.

Attached to Th’yl-Kjull’s side is a smaller, saggier blob about the size of a New Mexico State Fair hot air balloon, with thin droopy tendrils and bleary looking yellow eyes. According to the ancient texts, this is Mh’yl-kjull, the conjoined twin of Th’yl-Kjull. Occasionally it will undergo convulsive working of its shapeless mouth, ending by spitting out thin streamers of grayish ooze, which when they do actually hit anyone lead to severe, painful guilt trips, often over such things as forgetting to wish someone happy birthday.

This being, in the form of a tall, zaftig woman in a turban, has been spotted at various locations holding forth on the coming BLOOD WAVE which will supposedly flood most of North America, and has even appeared on public access television twice so far. It is unclear how she obtains speaking venues, but people do speak vaguely about her being “very persuasive.” Given the various reports of assorted horrors omnipresent in the media where not censored, she seems so far to have been lost in the background noise: no new panics have so far been traced to her actions. Indeed, one audience member in Illinois reported her as “much more entertaining than the usual preacher. She made the end of the world sound kinda thrilling.”

Being a creature of the harbinger or herald type, she is not in herself particularly dangerous if not physically attacked [1], so Abomination Control has so far not sanctioned destruction attempts. She is accompanied by a thin and rather dyspeptic looking male companion apparently of the doormat disposition, which of late has begun to develop what appear to be small antennae and signs of faceting in his already bulging eyeballs. Closer attention is being paid to him to make sure he isn’t going to start injecting people with eggs or something. Reportedly he goes by the name of Cyrus Abbott (Esquire) although so far no records have been uncovered of an actual person of that name answering to his description.

[1] Madame Psychopomp was shot in the head by an audience member in Michigan with a poor grasp of how to deal with Abominations. Although the shooting merely left a small hole in her forehead (gone by her next reported appearance), she was apparently sufficiently annoyed at him to glare at him until he underwent spontaneous combustion, leading to a mass exodus of the audience. Nobody else was burned and indeed program guides were found undamaged in adjoining seats.

This Abomination appears to confine its actions to Scotland and the Hebrides. It manifests Itself as a vaguely humanoid form some nine feet tall made of black slime, wearing a kilt the ghastly colors and strange geometries of which have driven people to madness. It will often accost travelers in lonely places out on the Moors and engage them in lengthy conversation, speaking only the most impenetrable dialects of Scots. Unless one is fluent enough in this speech to know when to heartily agree, it is recommended that one simply try to look intently interested and nod and go “hm” a lot: it is easy to misunderstand and respond inappropriately, and the Slime is rather short-tempered. If one is successful in this strategy, eventually the Slime will sigh gustily (and with a most foul swamp odor) and after an involved goodbye, sink into the ground and vanish.

If one slips up and angers the Slime, it may hit you hard enough to break bones or even kill, and if truly furious it apparently either removes or dissolves human heads (the forensic evidence is unclear); surviving a violent encounter, however, may be only the start of your problems if the slime gets on your skin. Those so marked slowly but irreversibly turn into Scottish stereotypes, speaking a dialect comparable to the Slime, insisting on wearing kilts on all occasions, and becoming ever more hostile to the “Sassenachs”. This occurs no matter the initial race or nationality (or gender) of the victim, and black Jamaicans or Chinese tourists are immediately recognized as “true Scotsmen” by their fellow affected. When questioned about their encounter, they speak of the Slime as a fellow Scotsman by the name of McOoze, and become quite offended at suggestions that “he” is in fact an Abomination. Of late some long-term victims have begun to build giant wicker men, which is never a good sign.

When dealing with a Slime encounter, if the Slime reaches into its own torso and pulls out a bloated leathery sack bristling with long, hollow bones, stick your fingers in your ears and run like the wind: the bagpipes are much, much worse than the kilt.

T’uth is the One who stands perpetually at your shoulder, complaining endlessly. Do not bother trying to spin around, for It will still be behind you. Do not look over your shoulder, for that way lies madness. Other will not be able to see or hear T’uth, but they will be able to see your second shadow, the one that looks like an octopus crossed with a combine harvester.

T’uth has an opinion, almost always negative, about everything in the universe, and wants to share it, although Its presence on Earth means that at least 50% of the time it speaks on terrestrial annoyances. Its opinions are lengthy and closely argued, for hours at a time. Plugging ones ears, listening to loud music, or destroying the eardrums does not help. The only ways to escape are to either kill oneself or go so deeply into madness or catatonia that one is no longer able to hear. T’uth will then go on to another victim.

The end will of course come much quicker if one lacks the ability to fall asleep while someone drones on tonelessly and endlessly on about what’s wrong with the political system on Spica VII.

So no one else may suffer, 85-year old widower Avraham Katz of Tel Aviv has put up with T’uth for two months, far longer than anyone else has been able to without losing their sanity. When asked how he does it, Avraham replied “you never knew my wife.”

Essentially a fifty-foot inflamed-looking spherical membrane containing a slowly oozing mass of pale pus, It’s only other distinguishing features are a clouded eye the size of a basketball, and a snaggly yellow tooth sticking out of a puffy slit that might be a mouth or a butt or something. It gets around by rolling, and it constantly telepathically moans and grumbles as it does so, often stopping to complain to people how sore it is and how it wishes someone would help it out by lancing it.
One might think this being is a tempting target to abomination control, but the Book of Ekke Ekke Ekke Ekke Ptangya Zoooooooom Boing warns “When the Perilous Pustule is pierced, lo! There shall be much weeping and pointing of the fingers, for Its Foul Exudations shall overtop the mountains, and thirty score myriads and ten shall be rendered most icky.” It is therefore recommended that it be left alone as it rolls around Eurasia, since it generally does no harm except when it accidentally rolls over people who aren’t paying attention or just scares the pants off them.

A public education program on the perils of the Boil has been widely circulated, since the Boil tends to occasionally disappear and show up again some ways away and therefore cannot be constantly tracked and accompanied by protective forces. The main concern is of course that some member of the public will try to lance the Boil on their own initiative. Fortunately, the membrane is quite strong and thick if translucent, and so far several efforts by disturbed or just really stupid people with knives, small arms, and in one case a chainsaw have failed to break through. Current least-bad disposal plans involve luring it into the Taklamakan using a Mil Mi-26 heavy life helicopter carrying a sufficiently impressive-looking giant pointy metal spike.

Increasingly on pretty much every flight that continues more than two hours, a particularly loud and annoying child will begin crying. People who check on this will discover a new row of seats now exists behind the formerly last row, and in one of them will be Skree’Yt.

Skree’Yt takes the form of a large, loathsomely fat and wrinkly blueish-white and warty baby, usually sticky with unmentionable substances and with a full diaper, howling loudly from It’s wide and toothless mouth. Its eyes are closed and never open. The smell and noise become such over the course of a long flight that if there is any extra seating at all (and sometimes even if there isn’t any) passengers sitting in the first few rows in front of Skree’Yt will try to move forward. Indeed, some airlines have been deliberately underbooking to keep seats free to deal with the “Skree’Yt problem.”

Picking Skree’Yt up and singing and walking up and down, etc., rarely works and even in those cases where he does quiet down contact with Its foul and gelid flesh and oozing emissions is only for the most strong of stomach. [1] And you have better not gag while taking care of It, since if you jostle Skree’Yt badly enough or otherwise cause It discomfort, well…it is in fact easy to get rid of Skree’Yt. Just hurt the Annoying One and It will vanish. But so will you. If it is not disturbed, Skree’Yt will vanish with no human casualties, along with the extra row of seats – and thankfully, the smell – once the last passenger has left the plane.

(Rules-lawyering is not recommended. In the case where a drug lord on a private jet threw one of his subordinates onto Skree’Yt, both the thrower and the throwee vanished along with It Which Stinks up the Cabin So Bad. )

[1] And often leads to nasty fungal infections.

Or so Its name translates from ancient Akkadian. This creature was detected by sonar in the Ocean deeps below 12,000 feet, and appears to be a somewhat eel or snake like entity roughly a mile in length. Its head appears more piscine than reptilian, with a long, sloping front and a long under-slung jaw like some of the deep sea fishes, and a bulbous growth on a forehead stalk, perhaps a light-generating organ. It has not been inspected closely by anyone who has survived, although judging from some screamed radio reports Its 200-foot long head lacks eyes. Given that It is rarely still and Its slowest “cruising speed” exceeds 100 miles an hour, with occasional bursts of speed into the supersonic (which maketh the deep to boil like a pot), approaches with remote controlled vehicles have not been a success either.

Lord Forehead seems relatively unaggressive: sure, It has dragged some ships to the bottom in Its dripping coils, and the mysterious “green glows” seen in the waters on five previous occasions, which caused hundreds to conga dance into the Ocean and drown may be LFL-related, judging from sonar records . Still, It isn’t as relentless in Its plaguing of humanity as other Ancient and Unspeakable Ones, and the biggest problem It causes is that wherever it goes It seems to produce Sea Serpents, whether through some sort of reproductive process or simple generation from raw elements is uncertain. Up to 150 feet long, aggressive, and carnivorous, the Sea Serpents have become a serious menace to fisheries and fishermen alike: although entirely mortal creatures and dispatchable by means of anti-whale explosive harpoons, they have become numerous enough to become a serious menace to boats with decks less than 25-30 feet above the waterline, and incidentally made possible the NRA’s successful suit to make explosive harpoon launchers a personal self-defense weapon. It is hoped that the Russian and Japanese whaling fleets, which have re-equipped to pursue this new prey, will succeed in bringing this problem under control. Sea Serpent sushi is already a glut on the Tokyo market.

Lord Forehead Itself has been hard to target with nuclear submersible weapons: there was one successful hit early on, which sent It to the bottom to much cheering, but the necessity of “multiple taps” when dealing with Abominations had not yet fully sunk in (blow up the “corpse”, and then blow up the pieces, etc. until not even dust is left), and LFH simply regenerated and was back cruising the seas and generating sea serpents the next day. It has been more elusive and even harder to pin down since: patrols by nuclear torpedo boats have failed to draw it nearer in spite of various techniques tested to rile up Ancient and Unspeakable Ones, such as playing classic jazz-off key on loud underwater speakers.

And now the reader knows why people don’t really care that much about Ghd’l.

The Floating Head was first reported in Thailand, and in Its subsequent appearances has not shown up outside the East/Southeast Asia region, ranging from Japan and north China south to the Wallace line. The entity is purely nocturnal. Emitting an eerie glow, it appears like a humanoid female head, but with a mouth distorted by oversized fangs and cat-pupil eyes: an improbably long neck, over fifteen feet by best estimates, dangles or writhes and coils beneath the head. The Floating Head usually attacks by immobilizing its prey with its constricting neck and then sucking the victims guts out through the mouth (the fangs cut through lips and teeth if the victim is stubborn about keeping it shut), and in the case of pregnant women, their wombs through the vagina. On occasion it will just take some chunks of meat out of someone and leave them alive but mutilated, or pursue children and bite them slowly to death or near death. Able to become intangible when not feeding, the Head is unaffected by bullets, but fears fire and bright light and will withdraw or vanish if approached by them. Some ancient Ghoorian symbols and the Elder Sign, if made of the proper green soapstone, will also repel it. It cannot pass through solid walls, but can squeeze through very narrow cracks.

The Head is sentient, and occasionally talks to its victims in their own language, in a sibilant, mocking voice, or whispers to people through walls at night. It appears to have a serious grudge against almost all of humanity, leading many to suspect that like Al Gore or Annette Funicello, It once walked the Earth as a human being. White phosphorous bombs are being distributed in areas where it has been seen to appear, in hopes of catching it by surprise.

Nis is a formless, gaseous entity resembling a large cloud of dark fog, distinguishable from normal dense fogs by its putrid and penetrating stink, which will linger for days after It has passed. From the point of view of outside viewers, Nis condenses from the air, spreads to cover a couple square miles at most, drifts along at a mile or so an hour if there is a wind, and disperses again after a few hours. Within, the situation is more complex.

Those caught in a Nis event are recommended to stay indoors and bar your doors and put up the protective shutters (and if you don’t have them, what the heck are you doing? You should have gone to Wal-Mart when you had a chance, they sell cheap sets with installation instructions and tools!). Going outside and looking outside for any longer than the brief interval needed to check to see if Nis has dispersed are strongly dis-recommended. Time is oddly distorted within Nis, and your Nis experience may last as little as half an hour or several days. Interruptions in electricity supply are likely, and radio communications are often out. If it turns in that you are in for the long haul, relax, breathe through a filter mask or at least a wet cloth as much as possible, and if necessary crack into your emergency supplies, this counts. (And if you don’t have an emergency food and water supply, the writer of this report does not know what to say. Honestly, it’s like some people want to have their brains sucked out).

Going outside during a Nis incident is very dangerous. In maybe 30% of cases the person will stumble out of the cloud, after minutes or hours of experiential time, with usually [1] no worse consequences than the need for many, many baths (clothes will probably need to be burned) and perhaps lasting terror about how long it took them to complete what should have been a half hour walk at most. There are indications space as well as time are distorted, and in the majority of cases, the person becomes permanently lost within Nis, no matter how familiar their surroundings, and vanishes when it vanishes.

Often they will encounter companionship of sorts, which will work to dissuade them from leaving in a most physical manner. These are referred to as the Nislings, and apparently are either people who were lost in Nis at earlier times, judging from clothing remnants on the few cases that have been captured, or animals weighing over seven pounds that have also been lost (dogs and cats are usually smart enough to keep indoors, unlike certain humans I could talk of). They have been seen through peepholes or upper windows by those who have undergone a Nis event, and are always to some extent decomposed, in many cases very much so. Their stench resembles that of Nis Itself, but far more concentrated. They do not talk and generally don’t attack to hurt or feed, but simply grab hold of their victims and drag them off into the fog. Generally they are no threat to a properly barricaded house, but look out for Nisling moose.

Nislings vanish when Nis disperses, but if dragged in some way out of the mist (sometimes they come close enough to the edge of the Nis cloud to be dimly visible, and then efforts can be made to, say, harpoon them) they will undergo accelerated decay, leaving no more than bones and a pool of slime after an hour.

Nis is one of those Ancient and Abominable ones which appear to be able to stand nuclear explosions or perhaps is just manifesting portions of itself from another dimensions: two separate efforts applied in cases where Nis had appeared in a thinly populated area only delayed its next appearance slightly. Efforts to find “non-traditional” methods to contain or destroy Nis have yielded some useful clues, but no solid results as of yet. So once again, check your Abomination Safety for Idiots guide, idiots, and stay alive!

[1] Those who stay indoors, even for days, generally never suffer anything more than an annoying rash that goes away in a few days, but those who have spent hours stumbling around through Nis do sometimes come down with something a wee bit like necrotizing fasciitis.

The Gates of Time were found behind a bunch of boxes in the cellar storage area of Hassan’s House of Dumplings in Baghdad. They were generally not noticed until recently, when a careful tracing of the mini-earthquakes that have been occurring with increased frequency led investigators to the eatery. People were puzzled by the fact nobody had noticed an eight-foot door of black metal covered with complex ancient Sumerian astrological symbols, but the owner said it had always been there and who really cared since it didn’t have a keyhole and didn’t open? Upon closer inspection (namely, a lot of excavation) it was discovered the gate was a solid slab only six inches thick (which in the case of magic doors, really means nothing), apparently indestructible and immovable. (So much so that the Gates are currently immovably fixed some six inches above the ground due to excavations below them).

It took rather longer and not until after Abomination Control had brought in two psychics, a dowser, and an old man from Helsinki whose trick knee acted up in the presence of Abominations before people really paid attention to the dog they had been stepping over all the time they had been inspecting the gate.

The dog (which, again according to the owner, had always been snoozing there) upon actual examination turned out to be rather unusual, being of indeterminate breed, an odd shade of puce, and with four nostrils. It was also sleeping in a depression in the floor, which turned out to be because it weighed over eighty tons in spite of being no larger than your average Alsatian. Attempts to move it with hydraulic jacks led to whining noises and an order of magnitude increase in the strength of the Earth movements, and were abandoned.

These various data led people to conclude that Abomination Control had discovered the legendary Sleeper at the Gates of Time, which will open at the End of the World. What exactly will happen then is unclear, although it apparently involves Time Ghosts and will be unpleasant. In the meantime, the Sleeper will wake to Indiscriminately Devour anyone attempting to open the Gates before the proper time: since researchers remain un-devoured in spite of various efforts to take samples and otherwise investigate the Gates, apparently such efforts do not count as trying to open them. Due to its location in a crowded city, and the fact that the world hasn’t come to an end yet, for now extreme measures have not been taken, although the Sleeper is closely monitored, Hassan’s House of Dumplings having been moved to a new location with more seats and an upgraded hot-oil fryer. Of late the Sleeper appears to be chasing rabbits and the frequency of mini-quakes has continued to increase, now accompanied by small rains of frogs and the occasional scorpion with the face of Saddam Hussein.

Robert Conrad began growing soft, squashy warts and moles all over his body fairly early on during the current Megapocalyspse, which soon grew to obscure him entirely. Conrad is currently a gelatinous grey mass covering two hundred and seventeen acres of Nevada desert, heaped up in mounds up to sixty feet high, where he was shipped after growing too large for the research facility he was formerly confined. Constant slow ripples pass through the mass, and occasionally tentacle-like growths emerge and are then reabsorbed. A radio controlled atomic bomb has been put in place in close proximity. At current growth rates he will cover over five square miles by next August, but since all projections indicate that by then the crisis will be over (whether or not humanity survives), most are not particularly concerned by this datum.

More recently, in the last month or so, the mass which was Robert Conrad has begun opening innumerable mouths, which persist for a while, occasionally talking, before being reabsorbed. Attempts have been made to open communication, which is somewhat complicated by the fact that the mass appears only able to communicate using quotes from The Wild Wild West and Black Sheep Squadron. So far, researchers believe that the mass is quite comfortable, extends best wishes to Robert Conrad’s friends and family, and just wants to be left alone to slowly grow until it consumes the world, although there is some uncertainty as to whether this is exactly correct, such sentiments not have been expressed by anyone on either television show, and there has been much use of analogy. It is also unclear whether or not the mass considers itself to be Robert Conrad, although it has stated that it is both James T. West and Pappy Boyington.

This disagreeable entity was first spotted by a local psychic and part time witch doctor in a Nigerian beer hut, sitting in a back corner and sucking someone else’s beer with his proboscis. The general public cannot see it, but it is possible to spot Eryur’Mok by squinting one’s eyes and holding ones breath until it becomes really uncomfortable. It will then remain visible as long as you don’t look away, so breathe, son, breathe. Eryur’Mok resembles a man-mosquito mixture, a bit like Mansquito but with more of a face and sort of goofier. It also wears an uncomfortably tight-looking outfit made of the skins of unknown beasts and an ovsersize pendant sort of thingy on its bare, knobbly chest. It is usually found in bars, clubs, restaurants and other such places, as long as they have out of the way corners and niches where it can sulk.

Eyur’Mok is a fiend suffering from a lack of self-confidence and serious tentacle envy, and if it doesn’t just ignore attempts at communication, it will complain at great length about its lack of astonishing abilities, small size, insufficient eldritchness, and so on. It mostly sits in corners, stealing people’s drinks through unseen sucking, checking on news about other Ancient and Unspeakable ones on its Smartphone, and bemoaning its miserably low position on the A & U pecking order. The one thing one should never do is offer it words of encouragement, since this may lead to a brief rallying of confidence, which in turn lead to Eryur’Mok going on a short rampage, teleporting from place to place and invisibly sucking the essence out of people, reducing them to horrible shriveled husks, until It comes to the realization that at the rate it works, to get to _everyone_ it would have to drain people continuously for fifteen centuries (and in any event It gets a terrible Ghost Headache if it drains more than a dozen people in rapid sequence). Sulking resumes.

Attacks on Eyur’Mok are not recommended: aside from the fact It is normally found in areas with lots of innocent bystanders, they seem to boost Its self-confidence. As per normal procedure, any mention of Its attacks should be kept out of the media, since It is known to frequently Google for any mention of Its name. Agents of Abomination Control who detect Eyur’Mok are recommended to either sit nearby and talk about how cool and mighty other Abominations are, or in cases where this is likely to cause public unrest, simply walk up to Eyur’Mok, give a single sad shake of the head, and walk away.

This entity appears to be exclusive to areas which actually have driveways and trees along them, which somewhat narrows the range of its appearances, but within these limits It may appear anywhere in the world, in a new and seemingly random location every night. It will appear, sometime after full dark, in the tree closest to the street on the left as one faces towards the house, never when it is being observed. (People who try to get around this with cameras will find them prone to electronic failure). A dark and lumpy shape, with sparkly bits, most often described as “like an evil potato, but with legs” will be seen to rest amid the branches. Seeing it will cause a deep feeling of discomfort, similar to a certainty as your plane flies away that you left the stove on. If you watch it long enough, it will seem to swell and pulse. Stop watching before it grows beyond the branches.

Attempting to call the police or Abomination control will fail as your phone and internet go on the blink and you receive only strange and disturbing tweets. It is best not to read these. Even if you can gather the courage to go outdoors and past the sleeper in the tree, the streets will seem unnaturally dark and you will be unable to find your way to lighted roads and Walmarts: houses will be dark and your knockings or bell-ringings will bring no answer, although you may hear whispered, not quite comprehensible conversations. Your wanderings by foot (your car will not start) eventually bring you back to your home. You will huddle in your house, awaiting the worst. Towards dawn a great terror and occasional diarrhea will come, only to vanish as the first faint grey light of dawn is spotted. A cautious peer out the window will show your tree empty, and you may wonder if it was all illusion till you draw near to the tree and smell a lingering aroma of rotten fish and strawberries.

You will be fine as long as you aren’t standing under the tree shortly before first light.
Ancient and Unspeakable Ones: More of the Same
The project continues! (Well, that's all for now. Unlikely to get through all 700 in anything like a hurry. :) )
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: violence/gore)
John Hodgman's amusing end-of-the-world book, That is All,… includes among other diversions a list of 700 Ancient and Unspeakable Ones who will return to wreck havoc until the Century Toad splits the planet in two. Most are very lightly described, and for my amusement I have been writing short reports on some of them, which I have decided to share.

With apologies to Hodgman, to whom all credits, plaudits, and moneys are due.

First reports emerged from impoverished neighborhoods, run down industrial cities, old train stations. Reports of people glimpsed being dragged aboard cargo vans of moving trains or down alleys by a hulking man in ragged, derelict clothing, with a scarf and high collar concealing much of his face. Among the various disturbing events of the time these reports were largely lost in the shuffle, but Abomination Control took notice when the computer flagged mention of “tentacles” in one report, in which the mystery perp’s scarf was displaced in a struggle, exposing, in the witness’ own words, “crawling, writhing, wet worms, no, tentacles, all over his face oh God they squirmed..”

It was eventually determined that the Abomination was skipping around from location to location by flying at night (slowly, heavily) with leathery wings which sprouted from its back, after it was caught on smartphone while passing over the parking lot of a 7-11, which relieved worries that the Abomination in question was a teleporter. It eventually emerged that “Carl”, as It called Itself, was attempting to set itself up as some sort of divinity of hoboes, wandering the mean streets, riding the rails, and frequenting former jungles with a rather pathetic ignorance of the fact that the Hobo lifestyle had largely ceased to exist, It’s Hobo argot laughably outdated. Still, It worked at it, punishing those who disrespected him by devouring them whole, and rewarding the faithful with swigs of a powerfully hallucinogenic rot-gut dispensed from an ever-filled bottle in a paper bag.

Authorities finally caught up with it outside of Akron, Ohio, interrupting it’s consumption of a drug dealing under an overpass. By this time during the Slow Catastrophe Abomination Control had learned that bullets usually were rather ineffectual, and so the interruption was carried out with shoulder-launched missiles, followed by flamethrowers. The resulting greenish-black flaky material began to evaporate into a green gas, and although Disposal Team managed to gather much of it with vacuums and hydrogen-rated storage tank, the last of it had vanished from confinement within two months in spite of best efforts and practices. As of current date, there have been multiple reports of a mystery “murder hobo” wandering the roads and rails of Eastern Europe, but International Control has decided that a single-incarnation, low-visibility Abomination responsible for less than a hundred deaths is a low-priority target and future disincorporations can be left to properly informed local authorities.

It proved a considerable surprise when actor Nick Nolte was revealed to be the current incarnation of an Abomination, turning into a hideous feathered lizard-man with a beard of snakes on live television and announcing the end of the world. Several thousand viewers went insane, and hundreds of thousands were severely shaken and required in many cases psychiatric aid. Thank goodness for Cable TV’s fragmentation of the viewing audience!

Nolte has been spotted at many locations around the globe since, often riding a colossal flying serpent-thing with gaudy feathers and silly little hands and feet. Outbreaks of madness and hysteria usually follow these appearances, as well as rains of blood, plagues of boils and women giving birth to snakes and lizards. Efforts to shoot him down by the militaries of various nations have so far been ineffectual, since he apparently only appears in a largely non-material form, nearby explosions causing grotesque but temporary and apparently harmless swellings, shrinkages, and distortions. So far, Nolte has not been observed in unpopulated areas where atomic weapons might be employed, and tends to turn into a shimmering mist and simply disappear if followed by plane or helicopter.

Nolte will occasionally vomit up bloody, six-foot tapeworms as he flies by. These are material enough, apparently immortal (cutting them apart just leads to more tapeworms, and they do not seem to need to eat or breathe) and constantly murmur unspeakable horrors in what observers will claim to be a version of their own native language, sometimes in the voice of dead relatives. They should be closely confined, since if they get loose, they tend to try to crawl up the ass of sleeping people.

Nolte will also occasionally interrupt TV programming to make further pronouncements of doom. Experiencing this is often bad for ones sanity and always bad for morale, so viewers are encouraged to immediately mute the TV and close their eyes at the first glimpse of his scaly phiz. In case the mute does not working, fingers in ears and loud humming is recommended.

People have reported meeting an odd, bald man who engages them in rambling conversations after introducing himself. Nobody quite remembers what he talked about later, and other people claim not to have seen any such bald person. The one thing the witness will remember is the bald man’s name, which will be something Alan – Fred Alan, George Alan, Ted Alan, Bruce Alan, etc., and comparably everyday names in Arabic, Chinese, etc. However, over time, the witness will begin to grow uncertain as to the actual first name of Alan. Was it actually Fred? Or was it Bob? Or maybe Frank or Louie? Or Bill or Jim or Ed or Bernie or Steve?

The witness, now known as “the victim” will become increasing obsessed with remembering Alan’s first name, claiming it is “just on the tip of their tongue.” Before long work habits suffer, sleeplessness sets in, and grooming drops off. In cases where the name was written down during the early phase of seeming certainty, the victim will claim that the name is incorrect, and eventually that it is not their writing and that some sort of hoax is being pulled on them.

Eventually, after three months, the victim is essentially comatose, unable to say anything save slowly muttering “…Alan….Alan…Alan” and must be supported intravenously. So far the process has proven impossible to interrupt, and the only defense available has been an effort to educate people on the risk of bald, garrulous strangers: Something Alan does not appear to people who already know about him (or rather It). As of current date, there have been several thousand reported cases of Something Alan.

This uniquely annoying abomination was not identified as one of the Ancient Unspeakable Ones for some time, since It appears only in dreams and people were often reluctant to report such dreams and uncertain as to whether it was Abomination Action or just their own insecurities.

The victims report finding themselves sitting in front of a huge desk, behind which sits a massive shape somewhat resembling a one-eyed liver in a suit, who inspects a huge book open before it. They report feeling not so much terror as nervous tension, as if waiting for an annual assessment report from their boss. This grotesque will sigh sadly, shake it’s amorphous above-the-collar appendage, and begin to speak.

The being (whose name, Chok-Uthug’ul, is written in jagged lines on a shiny nameplate sitting on the desk) will then proceed to report on their lives. It will explain (usually) how badly they are doing, how little decent sex they are getting, how little money they are making, how few people they are impressing, the low resale value of our car, how tedious their conversation is, how shitty the food they eat is, and how they are currently very likely to die with very little improvement. Frequent comparisons are made with all the people who are doing better than the victim. At the end, with further grim head-equivalent-shaking, Chok-Uthug’ul will give the victim a score for their life so far, which is variously a number, a percentage, or a letter grade, and in a few cases a grade of alcohol (usually something quaffed by the most improverished and desolate of winos).

Victims are left deeply depressed, and often indulge in self-destructive drinking, drug use, etc. in efforts to make themselves feel better. Others engage in high-risk behavior in attempting to change their situation, in some cases attempting fraud, robbery or rape to improve their “score.” It is perhaps odd that with the world possibly coming to an end in spite of all our struggles people should be so concerned with this notion, but it is usually the case that contact with Abominations is counter-indicated for continued sanity.

A very few successful people have received favorable scores. They tend to become increasingly smug and self-satisfied, although this is usually not particularly noticeable.

The number of people visited by Chok-Uthug’ul now numbers in the millions.

The Weeper sits in the middle of Rio Habour, Brazil, and sobs and weeps and moans. It does this continuously, and it is loud enough to be audible pretty much all over the city. It also is, even sitting down, nearly half a mile tall. It has therefore been decided by the authorities to leave it alone, as long as it doesn’t do anything else. Possibly if the current flow of people out of the city reaches the point where a total evacuation is possible (and the world doesn’t end in the meantime), nuclear weapons might be tried.

The Weeper is black, slimly, multi-limbed, many eyed, and grossly corpulent. It arose from the water as a slow bubbling of gelatinous horror which eventually solidified into its current form six months ago. Since then it has never ceased to weep, and sob, and groan. It produces 450,000 cubic meters of tears per hour. Its tears are acidic and have killed all life in the bay, and smell of damp soil. The Weeper itself smells like onions, which is noticeable all over the city when the wind is right.

Tog-Aggoth (“Brian” to his friends) has been a minor notable for a while, as an inspired raconteur, a major donor to charity, and a man of unmeasured but immense private wealth, distributed in banks world-wide. It is only recently that he has come forward as Tog-Aggoth the Ageless, one of the Ancients whose coming was foretold, but not, he assures people, one of the bad guys. He claims to be, in spite of his agelessness and transcendence of the flow of time, quite human, and has provided proof in the form of hair and skin samples which indeed are quite normal in their genetics.

Toth-Aggoth is a tall, thin, bony man, standing some six foot five, with pale, finely wrinkled skin, snow-white hair, long-fingered, knob-knuckled hands, and very white and somewhat too widely spaced teeth. In spite of an appearance of old age, he is as energetic as and possesses senses apparently sharp as a man in his thirties. He claims to have no memory of being any different than he is now as far back as he can remember, which is four to five thousand years, or as far forward as he can remember (two to three thousand).

Currently Tog-Aggoth is doing TV spots and speaking appearances, demonstrating a glib and sophisticated speaking style and a mastery of (so far observed) fourteen different languages. He assures the public that in at least some futures humanity will survive, and indeed he will become the 87th president of the United States (a somewhat different political organization by that time) some two and a quarter centuries into those futures. (He self-deprecatingly jokes he’s getting a little early campaigning in).

When questioned as to how he could be elected as a US president when his birth was long before it came into existence, Tog-Aggoth notes that like the early presidents, he was “grandfathered in” by virtue of having been living in Virginia at the time of the declaration of independence.

Tog-Aggoth has been quite helpful with advice, has warned Abomination Control well in advance of various dangerous new threats, and made numerous suggestions as to how at least some of humanity may survive the ongoing Slow Catastrophe. He has also revealed a great deal of fascinating historical detail. However, many of his actual statements are somehow more disturbing than helpful, such as his noting that since he only inhabits histories he is comfortable with, if he disappears we can assume that we are one of the versions of ourselves that don’t survive. His evocation of innumerable histories is dizzying and crushing in its vastness, and implies choice is meaningless, since some version of our future selves must suffer through all possible outcomes. His lectures on the nature and history of some of the many horrors now battening on humanity can be downright soul-crushing, and some social scientists and philosophers wonder if the overall effect is more negative than positive.

Most of the future science he has shared is useless due to the “lack of tools to make the tools to make the tools” issue, and is any case usually impossible to prove right or wrong due to inability to create the necessary test conditions; some call him a fraud and a charlatan, although he has never been caught in a lie in cases where he can be tested. It is certainly the case that a good documentary record has been established tracing his previous existence back before the mid-18th century, although some remark on the fact that nobody noticed his abnormal lifespan before he made himself publically known. (The fact that he moved a lot may account for this).

Various efforts by Abomination Control to have Tog-Aggoth confined as a potential menace or rendered to an Abomination Control research center have failed. Being well-spoken and very rich offers a considerable degree of immunity, and in any event Tog-Aggoth has told AC agents that since he knows the futures, why should he choose to inhabit ones where we succeed in capturing him? (He also claims AC “sadly misapprehends him.” As usual, it is difficult to say whether this is meant to be reassuring or not).

Some members of the chattering classes speak of a Tog-Aggoth “cult” in reference to the increasingly large crowds follow him around in hopes of being “taken with him” if he disappears from this world. In fact, Abomination Control has records of at least 200actual cultic groups which seek hidden meaning in Tog-Aggoth’s speeches and lectures. At least as many other groups claim he is the Antichrist.

Togatha is Tog-Aggoth’s sister. She usually remains in his shadow, standing by but not speaking during his appearances, or staying at home in one of their three extensive mansions in New York, Paris and the Hamptons. She is known in the antiques business as a collector of odd and esoteric prehistoric artifacts. She does not give interviews, and when questioned by reporters her answers are short and to the point. They are, however, also often slightly odd, like answers to questions one might hear in a dream, and people often ponder her answers as if they were some sort of deep Buddhist Koan. Seemingly simple answers to standard questions have been known to later inexplicably cause dry heaves, uncontrollable sobbing, or hysterical laughter.

Togatha is almost as tall and even thinner than her brother, and is almost skeletal in build, although always elegantly dressed. Her too-wide smile and red nails are things of subtle horror, and often haunt the dreams of people who have been in close proximity to her.

Even Abomination Control was unaware until a couple months ago that Broadway producer, sports promoter, owner of the Eureka Octopi football team and talent scout Joe T. Namath was actually Joe Tog-Namath, brother to Tog-Aggoth and Togatha, the relationship being revealed during an appearance on the Today Show. Unlike his siblings, Tog-Namath is rather obese, if still pale and wrinkled. He is known for the most impressively obscene jokes, wildest parties, and most esoteric flop plays on Broadway, and apparently neither of his siblings thinks much of him, given their tendency, when questioned about him, to become evasive and noncommittal (in the case of Tog-Aggoth) and even more puzzlingly obscure than normal in the case of Togatha.

Tog-Namath swears ignorance of the future (he would have to, or be in danger of innumerable charges of game fixing) but proclaims his “bro” knows what he’s doing. In the meantime he suggests people try to enjoy themselves, buys drinks for everyone in the room, and drops hints about his newest oddball theatrical play, which he claims will be ready for Broadway “well before the world cracks open” and will “expand the heck out of people’s minds – if anyone bothers to show up, anyway!”

Some half of Tog-Namath’s plays are conventional, and at least break even: the other 50% he has produced are all odd, esoteric, mystical, and experimental productions he claims to make “for the balance, man” and which every few people seem to have actually seen, and for record of nothing but a few disjointed fragments of video exist. There are many odd stories about these plays, but the reports of disappearances, onstage deaths, angry apes attacking the audience, disappearing theatres and actors going insane have proven very hard to follow up on. Rumors of all sorts trail after “Joe’s” 50-year career off and on Broadway, and Abomination Control agents continue to struggle against the cloud of unknowing that seems to surround him. For instance, there are over 30 reported cases of illegitimate children fathered by Tog-Namath, but so far none have been found, although in several instances places where they lived and then moved from without forwarding address have been located, and while people who met them have been interviewed, few descriptions have added much to West Virginia resident Joe-bob Elvis Parker’s pithy “Sorta funny-lookin’. Somehows.”

Indrid has been reported as a tall woman of uncertain race and dark complexion, often wearing a turban and a coat. Her eyes are an icy grey, and people report feeling an intense chill when she walks by. She does not usually communicate with people, but walks at a brisk, near-running pace through the streets of cities over 45 degrees north as if with a definite destination, eventually vanishing down some side street or passageway. Within 24 hours, the city she has walked will be hit with a blizzard: as winter has advanced, these have steadily increased in strength and intensity, by now approaching “100 year storm” levels and paralyzing major cities for days.

Some people have been intrigued enough to follow after her and try to engage her in conversation. More aggressive and inopportune efforts often result in the pursuer dropping dead shortly of hypothermia, but some have managed to talk to her and get away with no more than a bad chill. She calls herself Indrid, she is in a great hurry, she in not interested in a date, she doesn’t have a phone, she must catch the wave at its peak or things will go very badly, and the storms will only get worse if stupid people continue to distract her. It is generally recommended that people should break off communication with her at this point.

A month ago in Toronto, she was intercepted by an Abomination Control team and when she refused to stop, was fired upon with portable missile launchers. It is unclear what happened next, but surviving team members - all suffering from severe frostbite – report an “explosion” of icy wind and snow radiating from a central point, as if an opening had been made into a “world of cold”. Those who failed to run (and then limp, and then crawl) away fast enough were frozen solid. Eventually the effect ended, leaving a mass of ice apparently cooled to close to absolute zero filling an area of around 9000 cubic meters, and freezing to death the inhabitants of the adjacent buildings. There followed a period of three days of extremely savage weather globally, after which Indrid Cold was spotted in Sapporo, and weather globally returned to normal, or what passes for such at present.

Currently, active operations against Indrid Cold have been suspended until more effective measures can be determined.

Mr. Smart-Tooth first came to the attention of Global Abomination Control when he began broadcasting (in French and Japanese) from somewhere under the Pacific Ocean. Initially believed to be some sort of crank rogue broadcast, it has since been determined to be coming from somewhere below 6,000 feet of water, although the location changes frequently and has never been narrowed down to an area of less than 10,000 square miles.

Mr. Smart-Tooth claims to be a super-intelligent shark, a “brain-shark with 100 brains”, and his broadcasts usually tend to be lengthy monologues about how he will destroy all mankind, all other Ancient and Unspeakable Ones, and make himself sole ruler of the world, and eventually, the cosmos. Most of his plans seem to do with mutated sea life and coral and sea-weed based technology, and tend to be incoherent and full of curious leaps in logic and non sequiturs. They are also often interrupted by sudden changes in topic, which Mr. Smart-Tooth blames on some of his brains occasionally Not Getting With the Game Plan.

Although initially worrysome, Mr. Smart-Tooth is generally categorized as one of the more “low-risk” Abominations, given the improbable nature and exceedingly shoddy construction of his plans. Although there have been a number of incidents related to his plans, such as the mass horseshoe crab attack on Coney Beach, the blockage of the Mumbai sewage system by giant seaweeds, the attack by shrimp-filled and propelled (and rather fragile) zombies on Manila, and the formation of a giant floating fortress of coral in the Atlantic (which has since beached itself in Namibia), most of his predicted coups have not come off, and of late Mr. Smart-Tooth’s broadcasts have become increasingly paranoid and incoherent, laced with accusations of some of his own brains plotting against him. Still, Abomination Control maintains a close lookout for all plans and plots boasted of in his speeches: if he ever does succeed in creating his army of flying Mega-jellyfish-sharks with Giant Sand-Flea parachuting commandoes, casualties could be heavy.

This rather unusual abomination has apparently only one purpose in life, which is to ring people’s doorbells and then run away. It is never seen approaching, indeed never approaches a doorbell that is being watched, so Abomination Control has had no success in setting traps, but it has been glimpsed running away, a spindly being covered with bristly dark green fur, with arms and legs disproportionately long in relation to its torso, very long, spidery fingers, and a rather small head that does not seem to have a face. It bounds away over the rooftops with great agility, and generally vanishes entirely after leaping high in the air.

Analysis is of course hampered by the fact many people get their doorbells rung by human hooligans, but it is fairly clear that Bing Bong has pestered many millions, requiring it to pretty much continually ring bells day and night, and indeed to simultaneously ring bells at several locations at the same time. In the vast majority of cases, each victim has been doorbell pranked only once, but some have been visited multiple times, and in the case of a few unfortunates, they were pestered almost hourly for days and weeks, finally having to either establish permanent guard services or disconnect their doorbells. It is unknown what causes Bing Bong to lavish extra attention on certain individuals.

Although Bing Bong has never been more than annoying, his actions have caused an unfortunate degree of doorbell vigilantism, and a number of people have found out that putting up signs saying “Danger! Do not press doorbell!” does not entirely legally exculpate them from possible consequences of running a lethal charge of electricity through their ringing mechanism.

The Century Toad, the supreme God of the Mole Men, is supposedly a giant toad the size of Texas which lives at the center of the Earth. Since the center of the Earth is super-pressurized iron at 7,000 Kelvin, this seems unlikely, but there _has_ been some odd seismic activity seemingly originating at the Earth’s core. Efforts to get the Mole Men to lead AC members through their secret tunnels to the supposed location of the Toad have so far fallen through, perhaps understandably since the point was to smuggle atomic backpack weapons to the Toad’s location.

The AC and other international agencies continue to research the Century Toad: since the Toad is supposed to split the Earth open after other cosmic disasters and Ancient and Unspeakable Ones destroy the surface, it is understandably a subject of some concern.

Found eating from a dumpster in Shanghai, the Human Centipede at first inspection appeared to be three human beings surgically attached head to ass, but after an attempt to separate them led to the deaths of the two individuals in the “tail”, it became clear something unusual was taking place. In both cases a secondary system of digestive tubing had developed to carry food from the stomach of the front body to those behind it, so actual coprophagia was not taking place, while new veins and arteries had developed to carry oxygen from the front to the back. The skin-covered eyes had become vestigial, and new connective tissue had grown over the linkages between bodies one and two and two and three. The “head” was largely incoherent, and unless held upright continued to crawl on all fours. The truly disturbing development took place after the “head” of the centipede had been held in confinement by Abomination Control East Asia for two weeks: one of its guards was found in its cell, naked, with his face firmly planted in the “head’s” ass. Skin had already begun to grow over the join.

The guard was successfully separated surgically, the more advanced transformations not having yet begun, with no damage save severe psychological trauma and a serious bacterial infection. When questioned, he claimed to have felt a tremendous compulsion to go into the cell and take a closer look at the “freak”: he claimed to have no memory of taking his clothes off. After a couple more incidents, the Chinese authorities decided to give the centipede what it wanted in the form of two condemned prisoners: the centipede is however apparently capable of further extension, since a member of staff soon tried to become number four. Currently the situation has been brought under control by rotating staff every three days and mandating a month-long interval between on-site duty: this is expensive in terms of personnel costs, but seems to be effective in keeping its influence from catching hold.

The “head” is increasingly uncommunicative, aside from occasional exclamations such as “please kill me” or “please let me die”, and mostly just makes odd clicking or buzzing sounds. Further changes have been noted, with the teeth falling out and being replaced by large fangs, and the former legs undergoing a modification of the joints to allow for more effective and speedy crawling. Some sort of stinger-like organ has begun to develop on the tongue.

On October 3rd, the Human Centipede began to lay eggs.

On September 11, the entire population of Scottsdale, Arizona over the age of 2 formed a Conga line and marched north. Moving in a slow and meandering fashion, they have so far only recently crossed the Canadian border. About 5% of the marchers, most very young or very old, have died en route, but their by now often badly decomposed bodies continue to walk. All are severely dehydrated and emaciated by this point, but less so than they should be naturally, even taking into account substantial efforts to feed and hydrate them as they walk. Marchers are glassy-eyed and uncommunicative, although they will eat or drink if it is brought to their mouths, and mutter endlessly in some sort of unknown language. The fingers of each marcher by this point have taken root in the flesh of the one in front of them.

Initial efforts to separate out marchers, by force and surgical methods, led to failure as the separated went into convulsions and died, while the line closed up and rejoined. (It is to be noted that all members of the line will express disapproval of such activity with inhuman screams, trying to bite, and administering surprisingly athletic side-kicks). Thanks to the use of ancient Egyptian anti-demonic herbal infusions obtained from Book of the Dead II: Die Harder, it has become possible to separate out marchers while keeping them alive, although they remain so far in a cataleptic state. Currently there is substantial debate as to whether to bring in all 202,154 living walkers to medical care (possibly impractical due to the limited supply of Tanna leaves) or to allow the march to continue so their ultimate destination can be determined.

This exceedingly gross entity has been reported in restrooms, outhouses, port-a-potties, etc. since early July. It is blood red, slimy, wrinkled, and hairless, and bounds about on a single centrally located leg. It has a very long, black tongue and skinny, delicate hands and arms. It appears to be an obligate corprophage, and is usually busy doing exactly what you would think. It is impossibly flexible and passes easily in and out of toilet pipes in the most alarming way. Shooting it is not recommended, since it does it no real harm and you really don’t want to deal with what squirts out. Currently the Unipede hasn’t killed anyone, although it has (literally) scared the shit out of a bunch of people (being licked in the ass unexpectedly can be rather disturbing to your peaceful restroom-goer). Currently the most problematic result has been a global increase in toilet-training problems, as little kids sense that their parents also fear the toilet (quite irrationally, in a statistical sense: the Unipede is nowhere near as ubiquitous as, say, Bing Bong). The Japanese call it an Akaname, but what do they know?

Dan and Rick were initially mistaken for more conventional bums, but as reports circulated across Europe of a pair of incredibly foul-smelling tramps which left an indelible stink behind them, it became clear they were something both more and less than bum.

They have been photographed, elderly but solid-looking, with tangled masses of grey-black hair matted with dirt, crumbs, and God knows what, faces almost black with grime and of uncertain racial background, fingernails with mold apparently growing on them, and filthy, ragged clothing which appears to be worn in multiple layers, of which the outermost is the least (if still very) offensive; bits of black, greasy “stuff” often drop down their pants legs or out from under their jackets, possibly the sloughing-off of the innermost layer: analysis continues under full biowarfare security protocols. They converse loudly and almost constantly, addressing eachother as “Dan” and “Rick”, which is about the only comprehensible part of their conversation, aside from their occasional demands for “spare change” in the local lingo: about half of their normal conversation consists of words from no known language, the other half of words randomly taken from at least a dozen languages. They often pull bottles from their innumerable pockets for a swig, or bits and scraps of food often in a noticeable state of decomposition.

What really sticks in people’s minds is their smell, which is incredibly foul and has stimulated a rich variety of simile and metaphor on the part of witnesses which have encountered them. Worse is the fact that if one touches them skin to blackened, greasy skin (say, when giving them change to GO AWAY), the smell will never entirely leave you, and although nobody else can smell it, it will be faintly present for as a yet indeterminate time: no victim so far has reported any improvement, and many have to be restrained after a while to avoid scrubbing their skin off. This is the result of peaceful encounters: thugs and punks which have offered physical violence to the stink brothers soon become as unbearably malodorous themselves, to everyone, and usually attempt suicide to escape from the odor within a couple days. Areas where the brothers stay for extended period soon become foul, and there are now many park benches, spots under highway overpasses, back alley rag heaps, etc. that have become (even more) unsuitable for human occupation.

Containment may be difficult. Corralled by German police using animal control tools to push them into a police truck without actually touching them, they broke out overnight from their cell, the outer wall crumbling into greenish-gray sludge and the cell becoming unbearably fetid, a smell which soon spread to the entire police station, rendering it uninhabitable. EC toxic waste regulations make it difficult to legally blow them to bits, a consideration which was rather strengthened by the Sebis incident, in which overenthusiastic local militias set them on fire with flamethrowers after riddling them with machine gun bullets: the two brothers burned very merrily, but continued walking onwards, setting much of the town ablaze and producing such vast volumes of poisonous black smoke as to force a general evacuation: the town was later written off as a total loss. Some theories hold that nuking them might simply spread their odor to the entire planetary atmosphere, so restraint is called for in future encounters. (Two “incredibly stinky” tramps, wearing fresh if already dirty rags and bald heads starting to grow in with oily-looking stubble, were later reported in Moldova).

Current plans involve high-pressure hoses and very large quantities of detergent and bleach.

The creature in question, first encountered on the outskirts of Aberdeen by Abomination Control operatives, is a shaggy humanoid some seven feet tall with some resemblance to both the ape and the wolf, with a mouth full of oversize fangs, a roughly six-inch overbite, and impressive eyebrows. It is normally accompanied by a chubby, stubby-limbed miniature of itself, some two feet tall. The creature possesses enough agility to leap across rooftops, superhuman strength enough to pick up and toss a compact car 20 feet, and remarkable regenerative abilities to the point of being able to continue to live with most of its torso blown to bits and pick up and reattach limbs shot off. It also shows a certain nauseous plasticity – not to mention, a disregard for the basic facts of relative physical dimensions - in the way is capable of impossibly enlarging its mouth to swallow people (and in one case, a cow) whole.

Fang-face is also often quite friendly, cheerful, and even chatty, and will only kill, kill and devour, or devour alive people who annoy it. (Fang-Face and Baby Fang-Face do not appear to have genitals). Admittedly, what exactly will annoy it is often unpredictable, and it has eaten people for shooting it, for screaming loudly and persistently, or just using obscene language in its presence. An unprovoked Baby Fang-Face would be downright darling if it did not occasionally bite fist-sized chunks out of people at random.

This does not apply in the case Fang-face sees itself a mirror, after which it will go into an animalistic, feral state in which the odds of being de-headed or disemboweled greatly increase. After a few minutes, Fang-face will return to normal, apparently with no consciousness of what has happened, and will often pick up a conversation where it left off, even if the person in question is now missing their head.

It was eventually determined that Fang-face and Baby Fang-Face only manifested themselves when moonlight was present (not a full Moon, anything above the thinnest sliver did it) and when the Moon set or the Sun rose, turned into a fairly normal human being and toddler, both of which upon intensive interrogation claimed ignorance of their alternate selves. Efforts to imprison them proved ultimately ineffective – even a mile of rock overhead failed to prevent the transformation once the Moon rose, and Fang-Face proved capable of gnawing through eighteen inches of steel vault door within three nights.

Later incidents demonstrated that Fang-Face and Baby Fang-Face were, rather than cursed humans, more in the way of a semi-gaseous, non-physical entity possessing and transforming humans and moving from one body to another upon death. Fortunately, their disembodied forms possess enough materiality to be contained, and since the sealing of their current hosts in twenty feet of solid concrete encapsulated in a foot of gas-tight sealant, no further Fang-Face incidents have been reported.

In spite of intensive and in some cases unconventional interrogation of all surviving participants in its creation, the relationship between Fang-Face and a 1970s cartoon remains obscure.

If you are alone or in a small group and hear a particularly loud and sudden sneeze, do not look up or around or into mirrors for the next 10 seconds; indeed, it best to close your eyes. Ignore any post-sneeze snufflings or scratchy noises, or if anyone else in your group disregards this warning, ignore the screaming. The Sneezer only exists briefly after its sneeze as long as it is not looked at: if looked at, it will persist until the last person to look at it is dead. The Sneezer will only appear in locations where nobody is looking at its point of appearance, so it does not appear in crowded locations. The Sneezer is not recorded save as a fuzzy blur by film or cameras. It will appear in enclosed locations and other locations it could not appear by normal means: forensic evidence from the crash site of India Airlines 221B indicates that it may have appeared behind the pilots in the cabin. Judging from recordings and ear-witness reports of victim’s screams, plus forensic examination of bodies, the Sneezer has fangs, claws and a truly disturbing tongue with something of a drill-like function: the stains it leaves behind indicate sliminess.

There is speculation that the sound the Sneezer makes as it appears is not actually a sneeze, but it certainly sounds like a sneeze.

No matter how loud and startling, do not react to the sneeze.

This particular Abomination is neither containable nor combatable, but fortunately seems of limited scope. As part of the Report the Odd, Live to See Tomorrow initiative, millions have reported hearing a keening song of despair in the hum of their refrigerator, most often when opening it for a midnight snack. In spite of initial skepticism, extensive testing and double-blind tests have confirmed that something is intermittently changing the sonic profile of most home refrigeration appliances, transforming a normally unnoticeable background noise into a song of utter, if tuneless, sorrow. The problem can often be solved by whaling on your refrigerator with a hammer until its acoustic properties have changed, although this does not guarantee that the sound will not return later, or that your refrigerator will continue to work. Simply avoiding it after 10 PM greatly reduces the chance of being depressed by your fridge: there are also the options of earplugs or moving the appliance into the garage, or at worst moving to a diet of dried or canned foodstuffs. It is strongly recommended that one avoid trying to “tough it out”, since this approach can lead to people sitting and sobbing for hours in front of an open refrigerator, and if nobody intervenes, to suicide, often by squeezing oneself into the fridge and closing the door.

Ghd’l is essentially a 90-foot long eel with human arms and the head of a wolf and a tendency to snatch people off the decks of small boats at night: otherwise there’s really not much to him, or it maybe. One might also note that Ghd’l smells like a cross between herring and wet dog, or that he/she/it sometimes can be heard howling in the night over the black Ocean, but such facts don’t really add much. So far, various efforts to harpoon or otherwise eliminate this mildly dangerous creature have proven unsuccessful: Ghd’l appears to be cunning and elusive, if not otherwise very interesting.

This entity mostly is known for its communications over the internet, in which it will, with a snarky and mean-spirited sense of humor, make snap judgments on people’s morals, ethics and intelligence based on their statements, internet pseudonyms, and occasionally web page design. What distinguished “Colin” (as it identifies itself) from regular internet trolls is that when Colin colorfully curses people which have particularly offended it (say by fighting back), for instance saying “weasels should chew off your nut-sack”, or “shrivel up and die” a manifestation of genital-hungry Mustelidae [1] or progressive irreversible dehydration will likely rapidly follow. Anyone attracting Colin’s attention on the internet should shut off the computer and avoid returning for a while to the site on which contact took place: misfortune apparently only takes place if the victim reads Colin’s responses. This had led to an unfortunate degree of cyber bullying by normal humans pretending to Colin; such disagreeable behavior has lately died down, though, possibly due to stronger new laws against impersonating an Ancient and Unspeakable and almost certainly due to the fact that Colin tends to track down those who impersonate It.

Predicting who will draw Colin’s wrath is difficult, since Colin’s judgments of people’s actual behavior and ethics tends to be less than 50% accurate and Colin appears to possess a largely blue and orange morality to begin with. It is to be noted that toadying to Colin is a poor strategy: in cases where Colin claims to like people, they end up with lumpy purple warts on their foreheads, “the mark of Colin.” Colin claims to be “a high lord master of the outer dimensions” and “master of the interwebz”, the latter being at least supported by the fact that password access seems no barrier to posting to whatever site It pleases.

Abomination Control has attempted to track down and eliminate Colin by tracing his computer logons, which usually take place in libraries or offices after closing hours, or through unattended home computers. So far Colin has managed to avoid capture or destruction, fleeing through unknown means. It has been glimpsed by janitors and security guards, which report seeing a white, bloated creature with something of both the toad and the ape, with protuberant yellow bulbs for eyes and a huge slobbering mouth. Keyboards are inevitably rendered sticky and gross.

[1] Some of Colin’s attacks, such as angry weasels, _can_ be defended against with proactive preparations (say, weasel-proof pants).

Jeffrey O’Connor of 212 Weston Park, Crouch End, London is often referred to as “the first to slither” by virtue of being the first reported worm or snake-like Abomination to appear. Jeffrey turned into a 30-foot worm or slug-like creature with a flattened and distorted but still recognizably human face halfway through the televised soccer game, and after eating the family dog, slithered out of the house, down the street, and squeezed his way into a storm drain. He later grew to the point where he got stuck in a sewer main and was immobilized (causing dozens of toilets to back up) and was dug up and extracted in pieces, which remain alive and are distributed between a dozen labs for study. Unfortunately, before that happened Jeffrey appears to have spawned, leading to the infestation of mini-Jeffreys that continues to plague London in spite of all extermination efforts. (That these creatures are Jeffrey’s offspring rather than a separate problem was confirmed by Jeffrey O’Connor’s mother in law, who stated “They’re definitely his. I’d recognize that vacant, cow-like expression anywhere.”)

It is uncertain (and hotly debated by his living relatives) whether John Kerry is actually an Ancient and Unspeakable one, but his mansion in Louisburg Square did collapse into a thousand-foot deep pit glowing with sickly blue flesh-rotting flame, and the dark passage at the bottom leading to deeper abysses does form the “mouth” of a huge stone carving of Kerry’s face. The sinking of some exploratory shafts indicates that the tunnel does not exist save when approached through the pit, which is something of a problem given that so far it has been impossible to get human personnel through the pit without lethal necrosis, and automated rovers are torn apart by glowing skeletons as soon as they enter the tunnel. Said skeletons are prevented from leaving the pit by US army artillery stationed around the rim, but this does not stop the pit from emitting a sulfurous yellow mist which has pretty much destroyed property values for the Beacon Hill neighborhood. Of late things have grown more ominous with the discovery of a Greater Boston Metro Area-wide rash of grave robberies, in which the bodies haven’t been dug up, but rather pulled further down into the earth. This has coincided with a rash of reports of bad dreams from all over the northeast coast, in which people report being visited by a partially skeletonized but still recognizable John Kerry, who tells them that he is the Real Deal and hope is on the way and promises a lifetime of service and terrible strength. The use of atomic weapons, along with the total evacuation of Boston, remains a real option.

The God of Block Island appeared rather abruptly some weeks ago and after destroying the ferry and making giant spiny black vines overrun the airport, has made itself the god-ruler of the small local population, which as a result of punishments, human sacrifices, and apparently cannibalism directed at “surplus”, has shrunk from over 1000 to about 300. Observations have been made from a distance by telescope: infiltration of the island has proven impossible, due to the God apparently being immediately aware when anyone new sets foot on the island, and also the manhole-cover sized crabs that lurk in wait right offshore to repel intruders and prevent escapes.

The population now apparently lives off fishing and strange fungi and blackberries which the God has made to sprout everywhere: there is some indication that fields are being prepared for growing some sort of crop in the spring, which would seem to indicate a confidence in the long-term survival of Block Island, and with it the Earth, oddly out of place in these rather apocalyptic times. A temple is being constructed from local rocks, grotesquely carved poles erected, and surprisingly dully nightly rituals carried out.

The God Itself is some thirty feet tall, with four heads, four arms, two torsos, and five legs, covered with mustard-colored mucus and howling incomprehensibly out of its gaping, fang-filled maws, although its subjects seem to get the message somehow. Missile strikes have proved somewhat ineffective, the God and pieces thereof simply sinking into the Block Island soil and arising fully regenerated within minutes, while usually some of the local hostages are killed in the process. This angers the God, and leads It to strike the shores of Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Long Island with storms, rains of dead fish, swarms of stinging flies, unseasonable frosts, and icky mold. It is theorized that by unleashing enough firepower to sink Block Island beneath the sea, the God will lose its anchor point in this reality and will be banished, but since the God currently seems uninterested in expanding its rule beyond the island, so far such measures have not been sanctioned. And, according to observers with an interest in nature, the bird life is really flourishing under the rule of the God.

If it has a name of its own, it has never revealed it, so it has become known as “Jeeper Creeper” due to its similarity to the creature appearing in the movies “Jeepers Creepers” and “Jeepers Creepers 2”, (some survivors of its early attacks in fact referenced the movie). This bat-winged humanoid abomination is normally composed largely of decaying human tissue, which it replaces regularly with bits and pieces taken from human victims. It differs from the creature in Victor Salva’s amusing work in that it continued in its depredations well after the 23 day limit, and was occasionally chatty, with a tendency towards such unpleasant humor as prank-calling the Abomination Control home office.

Jeeper Creeper was subject to a nation-wide manhunt in the US after it ate Justin Long, star of “Jeepers Creepers”, as it explained later, “for shits and giggles.” It was finally cornered in San Angelo, Texas, where while trying to crawl away from a punishing firefight, it was immobilized by a valiant citizen driving on top of it with his Ford Canyonero. It currently is under Maximum Extra Super Security containment, with Its body, weak and largely skeletal after the human flesh was debrided, currently divided up between several lock boxes to minimize the effectiveness of any attacks. (The bits are all individually motile, but there’s only so much a single upper arm or foot can do. Personnel are warned to avoid direct flesh-bone contact, however, since they can sprout tiny gnawing teeth. The head’s fangs are kept in a box of their own).
Several attacks, presumably efforts to free Itself, have been carried out on Abomination Control security locations by bone and flesh constructs apparently under Jeeper Creeper’s control, varying from flying bone daggers to many-limbed horrors made of a great many human bones and scraps of flesh cleverly stitched together: so far, none of these attempts have succeeded.

A continuing problem is locating the bodies of the many victims: a few Creeper “nests” have been found, decorated with elaborately cut and stitched remains of dozens of individual victims, but this appears to be only a fraction of the total. Jeeper’s head is currently uncommunicative, due to lacking a tongue (It isn’t allowed one since it somehow converted the last one into a bunch of little tentacles used in an escape attempt).

Closely resembling the long-dead famed designers in architecture, furniture, etc., this inhuman pair can be distinguished by their almost entirely black, white, and grayscale coloration, and the fact that they never blink. Their extreme anomaly is usually not noticed, however, at the time, save by those who have trained themselves to notice the Unthinkable: at the time, most people are aware of their being oddly “pale” and bloodless”, but only afterwards become aware that there was no actual color to their faces at all. People are warned to not let them into their house no matter how persuasive they may seem, and to never read their “minimalist manifesto.” Their presence in a house, even briefly, can lead to creeping “Minimalization” in which ornament, extra furnishings, homey disorder, comfortable furniture, etc. all slowly vanish as the home becomes a shining futuristic space with an excess of solidly colored geometric objects best inhabited by boring robots, and causing no end of existential terror to its inhabitants. In severe cases a house may become a thing of pure geometry and color, with spatial properties not conducive to human sanity. A severely infected structure should be burned, or if no longer burnable by earthly flame, crushed and then contained in concrete, because it will eventually start to infect nearby structures, cars, children’s playgrounds, etc.

Much worse can occur if one actually reads their Manifesto: what happens to a human being who becomes Minimalized is not pretty. “A pale, shining thing” – “a form made entirely of angles” – “a mere sketch of a human being” – “a man-shaped hole in the world” – too close a contemplation of the results can be a serious cognitive hazard. Currently victims are confined to isolated care units and cared for by staff with specially designed goggles, although increasing difficulty in communication between them and the staff and increasing Minimalization of their living quarters has led to proposals of their confinement under high-security conditions.

The duo have been quite active, popping up in locations around the globe wherever housing is more sophisticated than the grass shack, and spreading their ideas by pamphlet and internet posting in spite of all efforts to censor such information. They have also apparently taken part in the production of a movie, which was fortunately seized before it could be distributed, and have apparently helped inspire some new furniture designs which cause back pain and mental dissociation. Current standing orders are “destroy on sight”, but they have proven annoyingly resilient to violence. Bullets seem to pass right through them: high explosives are more effectual, but they simply seem to shatter into innumerable tiny geometric black and white forms which then fly away in all directions. Currently an effort is being made to weaponize the Black Staff of Eibon in an effort to banish them, but the high dissolution rate of test users has been so far discouraging.

That it is called Ukdl can be determined from a brief passage in Von Addams große Buch der das Unaussprechliche, and that it is triple jointed can be determined from the fact that it’s immensely long and thin arm can be seen to have three joints as it emerges from the sea or low-lying clouds or openings in the Earth, extending itself as much as several hundred meters to grab a handful of people (or sheep, or cows: Ukdl is not picky) and drags them back to an unknown but probably mastication-centered fate. So far it’s sporadic and globe-wide appearances, and the apparent lack of a physical presence during other times, have prevented a hookup with local national or AC military assets, much to popular frustration. Efforts to locate Ukdl with the aid of psychics were temporarily suspended when one high-level asset was lost when Ukdl’s arm came out of a walk-in closet and grabbed her, but a new initiative is underway, somewhat hampered by the fact that actual psychics are very hard to fool into believing that the backpack nukes are actually “telepathic enhancement devices.”

First reported by tourists looking into the water (those of them which eventually stopped screaming), the Terror is an embarrassment to the US government, which finds itself unable to eliminate an Abomination situated right in the capital. (Admittedly the whole US government has been evacuated to a safer location high in the Colorado plateau, but it’s the principle of the thing). Descriptions of the Terror are somewhat unclear, but apparently it has a great many eyes, mouths, and tentacles, and the tentacles have suckers which are sometimes mouths and sometimes eyes and sometimes the screaming faces of dead people. So far the Terror seems uninterested or unable to leave the pool, and its tentacles have a reach of only about 150 feet, tops, making it a fairly low-level threat aside from the terror thing.

The pool is now apparently bottomless, briny and quite impossible to drain: the use of depth charges having proven ineffective, the government has erected a 20 meter steel chain fence covered with opaque tarps just outside of tentacle range and largely tries to ignore the issue. A system of closed circuit cameras focused on the fence, not the pool, and automated guns allows for the destruction of the occasional horrible, unearthly sea-thing which crawl or flops out of the pool, and heavy artillery and missiles are aimed at the area in case the Terror ever decides to leave the pool. Overflights are forbidden since a commercial flight passed close enough for some passengers to see something which sent them into fits (one of them tried to escape through the exit door while the plane was still in the air.) Visits to the Lincoln Memorial, which sits just beyond the fence line, are down and there have been some suggestions of moving the building. Of late, perhaps due to the Terror attempting to amuse Itself, thousand foot high black waterspouts, creepily alive-looking, have been forming over the pool and then collapsing, drenching the immediate neighborhood with smelly seawater.

Formerly known as “Wikipedia”, this entity appears to have gained malign consciousness early in September, when people began to report Wikipedia articles had somehow become much more convincing. This was merely annoying in the case of people who now believed in the existence of previously unknown or nonexistent countries, living entities, and historical events, but was very bad in the case of articles describing the hideous fates awaiting all humanity and the need for worship and human sacrifice and self-mutilation. Other articles, describing hideous ritual magic and ways to tear holes in the fabric of space-time, were potentially even more dangerous.

Millions were negatively impacted to a greater or lesser extent before measures could be taken. Attempts to shut down Wikipedia, including the destruction of physical servers, proved futile, and given the universal accessibility and cognitive threat of the entity, things might have gone much worse for humanity, if not for the fact that the Hive Mind remains bound by the fundamental characteristics of Wikipedia, most notably it’s editable nature. Therefore, the threat is maintained within tolerable levels by constant edit wars, which take a serious toll on the editors, since it is difficult to edit without reading what you are editing, and your average editor only last two weeks before succumbing to some form of memetic contagion and becomes suicidal, mad, or a Cultist (the last two being nonexclusive categories).

Abomination Control urges the public to avoid using Wikipedia at all, but if one must look something up for your term paper or must know the name of that girl who starred in that movie, stick to relevant articles, do not click on any suggested links no matter how interesting they may seem, and never, ever, click on “random article.”

On the positive side, articles on countries either strongly nationalistic or inspiring strong such feelings in other countries, aside from alarming prehistoric digressions, are now entirely accurate and bias free.
Ancient and Unspeakable Ones
For your amusement, or perhaps annoyance, more eldritch abominations than you can shake a stick at. 
Mortes D'Arthur by QuantumBranching
Mortes D'Arthur
OK, here's a commission I did, a map of the world for Turtledove's "Mortes D'Arthur" short story:… - an SF future of the 1980s which has become alternate history with the passage of time and the fall of the USSR.


The move toward Green-Pink neutrality in Western Europe and the rise of a Japan which could not only say no but also “screw you, Yankee” on the one hand and the US move towards the hard right and rising Israel Uber Alles religious fanaticism on the other led by the early 21st century to the breakup of NATO and the increased isolation of the United States internationally, and an emboldened USSR pushed the US hard in Africa, Latin America, and the Middle East. This in turn increased US paranoia, and eventually Some Damn Fool Thing in South America combined with an excessive confidence on both sides as to the deterrent effect of new anti-missile systems led to bombs flying.

The US and Soviet Union were both pounded badly, with lesser damage inflicted upon such allies and near-allies as China, Korea (both), Cuba, Canada, the Warsaw Pact countries, Iraq, Israel, and the People’s Republic of Venezuela. Both superpowers essentially disintegrated, and an interregnum of sorts followed. Centralized authority was revived in Russia faster than the US, but the Russians were divided in two separate states which well over a century of efforts would fail to reunify. The Union of Moscow was established by hardline Communists, while the Siberian Republic, and later the Siberian Empire, was based on a conscious rejection of Communism and a deliberate effort to return to the values of a pre-1917 “true Russia.”

(The Union of Moscow, although it stubbornly insisted on calling itself the USSR for three quarters of a century, was based in Moscow from early on: nearly half of the anti-missile system budget being dedicated to protecting one city meant that only two US nukes got through, and given superior US targeting and therefore lower megatonnage weapons, nearly a third of Moscow remained livable for certain values of livable, if you used a proper Soviet Geiger counter rather one of those lying, over-sensitive Western ones). 

The US fragmented badly, and the largest regions of ordered government to emerge were in no mood to fight another series of wars to reunify. (Although there was eventually some violence in dealing with particularly wacky enclaves). US reunification has been a slow and mostly voluntary process, with some bits taking their sweet time to rejoin, and a number retaining various degrees of autonomy above and beyond what states used to have before the war. State borders have changed substantially as various “governments of emergency” were often not willing to hand over “their” citizens to the possible misgovernance of states essentially rebuilt from scratch, or in some cases didn’t want to rejoin a state if it meant living with “them.” In some particularly hard-hit areas states were indeed essentially constructed from scratch and repopulated from elsewhere. Currently the US is inward-turned and rather poor by global standards, although its overly sugared fizzy drinks remain a popular export. 

Eastern Europe was not happy that a neutralized Western Europe had “abandoned them”, or about being nuked when all the westerners got was a wee bit of fallout, or about what they felt was distinctly insufficient aid from the West after the war. Nor did they like the West’s Pinko leanings and cheerful atheism. Western Europe, on the other hand, had over the last few decades becoming something closer to a United States of Europe, and was leery about admitting to their union impoverished, radioactive, rather democracy-impaired eastern states which would take a long time to “bring up to spec.” A few bits were absorbed, notably Croatia, East Germany, and Hungary (which hated all its neighbors from way back), but a positive effort to bring the East into United Europe’s embrace was generally “too little, too late” and a hostile coalition of anti-Brussels, religiously reactionary and generally pissed Eastern nations formed.

Israel, although not entirely annihilated, was badly damaged and had lost its principal sponsor: it would never regain the regional hegemony it had held for a while. A more successful *Arab Spring brought about a new era of Arab nationalism and Pan-Arabist dreams…

By the last third of the 22nd century, a new international order exists. The unified world dreamed of by 20th century utopian futurists has not come into existence (although the total number of nations has rather decreased) but neither has the radioactive wreck of the pessimists. Communism is a discarded philosophy, save in the Union of Moscow, where it is in any case more of an element of national identity and as formalized and ritualized as 17th century Spanish court ceremony. Technocracies, oligarchies, democracies, monarchies all exist. It is generally a pragmatic world, and although nationalist rivalries remain, there is little in the way of international ideological conflict. A number of Great Powers watch eachother carefully and maneuver for influence in the more backward and fragmented parts of the globe. 

The world’s leading nations nowadays are the United Arab Ummah and the Republic of India, although the Arab Ummah or “world” as some foreigners call it is considerably more “impactive.” India, like the US in the 1920s, is economically booming but isolationist, rich and rather arrogant, the world’s largest economy but rarely intervening in other people’s affairs outside the immediate “sphere” of nations closely integrated into its economic and military space, and participating only to a limited extent in international fun and games like, say, the Olympic games. (The very cerebral and artistic society of modern India thinks running around a track in shorts is an undignified activity unworthy of anyone fortunate enough to be born a Hindu). The Arabs, on the other hand, are not quite as heavy a hitter economically, but are very rich on a per capita basis, and are heavily involved in international politics, peacekeeping activities, space exploration, etc., with complex political ties with other major nations from Brazil to China. Like Germany before WWI, they are a relatively new “great power” and tend to feel they need to keep proving that they have “arrived.” They also have unfortunate minority problems, having annexed the Turks outright after defeating the Turkish totalitarian state in the Kurdish Crisis, along with Armenia: and the remaining Jewish population of the annexed Holy Land remains a headache, although the government in Cairo is doing its best to fully integrate the Jews, one of the athletes on the current Winter Olympics team being a Jew.

The Empire of China’s inevitable (as they think) rise to Top Nation status has been admittedly somewhat delayed, being nuked by the USSR, the Not Enough Babies crisis, the Global Warming Crisis and the second (or third, depending on if you go back to the 19th century) civil war all being something in the way of speed bumps. Like the Siberians to the north, there has been a turn towards traditionalism, especially since the Hereditary Dictator declared the replacement of Communism-Maoism by Modern Confucianism as the state religion in 2137.

Japan returned to Good Old Fashioned values as well in the wake of the collapse of the US and a lot of radioactive ash wafting across from the mainland, although admittedly the Neo-Bushido of today has as little to do with that of the early Showa period as that did to the Japan of Tokugawa (mostly made up out of whole cloth, in other words). Big families and militarism are back, although loli-porn has proven impossible to eradicate. In spite of government efforts to promote Prodigious Breeding and even opening immigration to people who look sufficiently Japanese to a complex computer pattern recognition system, Japan does not have enough people to really support first-rank power status,[1] which they make for with bravado and substituting machines for people wherever possible. Japan is, of course, the most cyberneticized and roboticized nation on earth [2].

Eastern and Western Europe still tend to negatively stereotype each other out of sheer habit and inertia, and the continued grumbling of Serbia re being “cheated” in the partition of Bosnia has led certain German groups to troll with old claims to Kalningrad: however, the revival of Moscow as a middling power has led to détente, the Prague government feeling it best to deploy its defenses eastward. United Europe, which includes a scattering of territories world-wide plus a Canada looking for a protector that wouldn’t get them nuked, is pretty closely unified today, but not without continued strong regionalism, the Scandinavians forming a particularly influential sub-group, while the British are the often-threatening-to-secede equivalent of Texas. 

The Swiss, like the cheese, stand alone. 

South America is divided into an Argentine and a Brazilian block, the Brazilians also maintaining close ties to Lusophone Africa. Brazil is a leader in biotech research, and is undergoing a rather scary national experiment in substituting biological mechanisms for machinery wherever possible in a spirit of creating a “greener world.” Visitors are recommended to stock up on anti-allergens and fungicides. 

Africa remains somewhat fragmented south of the Arab sphere of influence, but economic convergence means that the sub-Saharan lands are finally catching up to the rest of the world. Nigeria has emerged as a major power, with a chip on its shoulder about the Arab competition for influence in the Sahel. Even the Congo isn’t doing too badly nowadays, the mere fact of their continued existence being a bit of a surprise to interdimensional travelers. Somalia has broken up, reunified, and broken up again, and the Azanians and the Cape Republic are nowadays commercial partners rather than blood enemies. Angola never did quite manage to get its shit together, though. 

Siberia, which eventually crowned a charismatic 17th cousin of the original Romanov line, is in fact the richest sizeable nation per capita on earth, much richer than Moscow, and if not populous enough to be a true heavyweight, have a fair share of international influence. Their hatred for and desire for the overthrow of the Moscow regime is legendary, with both sides arguing that they are the “true Russians”, with Siberians pointing to their revival of all the best of Russian culture and the “enslavement” of Moscow by an absurd German-Jewish [3] philosophy, while Muscovites note that Siberia was a mere annex of Russia while they are the true heartland, and Siberians are anyway a “mongrel” non-Russian people (concerns with low population plus economic growth have made Siberia an immigration magnet: half its population are non-Russian by descent). 

The world is technologically advanced, although a Singularity does not seem to be in sight: genuinely self-evolving self-aware AI turns out to be rather harder to create than was generally imagined. Economical (finally) fusion power and dirt-cheap solar panels have allowed a successful transition to the post-carbon fuels era, and while global warming remains a serious issue, the geo-engineers have been on the job and can guarantee that things won’t get any hotter. Of course, the seas will continue rising, albeit slowly, for a while yet: these things have a lot of inertia. The only way to stop or reverse this is to cool things, perhaps even below late 20th century levels and back to Little Ice Age levels: although some are enthusiastic about the notion of holding winter fairs on the frozen Thames, Siberians, Canadians, and Scandinavians, not to mention the British fine wine industry, are all rather opposed to the notion of cooling things down much, if at all. On the other hand, the Arabs certainly could stand getting less of their water through solar-powered desalinization, and the Australia-New Zealand union, which has been doing all sorts of cutting-edge stuff in efforts to make their country more habitable, would certainly like it if things were a bit cooler…the debate continues.

Revolutionary new propulsion systems have opened up interplanetary space since the start of the 2100s, and there are now human colonies all over the solar system. Independent off-Earth governments include a couple of the larger space Habs in orbit around the Earth, the Lunar Republic, whose origins lie in the heroic efforts and cooperation of the Soviet and American space colonies to survive after being cut off from Earth by the atomic war, two regional governments on Mars (to which five different powers have claims) and a dozen dinky and often-in-need-of-a-bailout-but-always-boasting-of-their-independent-nature colonial efforts scattered through the asteroid belt. The rest of colonies are still too dependent on supplies and support from Earth for independence, and vary from a corporate-backed effort to exploit Mercury’s mineral wealth combined with illimitable solar energy, to a chilly outpost on Pluto’s moon investigating what appear to be liquid-helium based forms of life. Currently there is a big to-do on Mimas, the moon of Saturn, where the first deep-space Olympics, the 66th winter Olympics, will be held…

[1] If you want to piss off a Son of the Gods, remind him that the Philippines now have an overall larger economy.

[2] 1980s SF, after all. 

[3] Not without their flaws, the Siberians. Antisemitism, after all, is another old Russian tradition.

I apologize if the notes are a bit hard to read: computer issues. 

Imaginary Places by QuantumBranching
Imaginary Places
Another map in progress...and by "in progress", I mean I have been working at it on and off for a couple years. Still, I'm about 80% through this:…
(1980 edition) so perhaps Draft 1 will be done sometime in the next couple months. 

Then of course, I need to do Draft 2, which will mean updating all 500-plus entries to the "modern day" and making adjustments to the "real" here's hoping for before 2017!  :D
Planet Equestria by QuantumBranching
Planet Equestria
OK, something for the Brony crowd: a world map for My Little Pony, if the planet had a similar geography to ours.


Bruce Munro
United States
Current Residence: Where the rabbit shoulda made a turn
Hmm. No comments on the new map. Is it a dull map? Am I no longer "hot" on Deviantart? :) Or have I simply produced a map so densely annotated that there simply are no questions to be asked? 

Edit - so it is I simply produced a map so densely annotated that there simply are no questions to be asked 

Guess I shall have to make my maps more obscure in the future! :D

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OttoVonSuds Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2015
Please repost your les mortes d'arthur map on here too. It was great.
CyberPhoenix001 Featured By Owner Feb 8, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
How's V for Vendetta coming along?
QuantumBranching Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2015
A bit busy with some commissions, but about 70% of the writeup is done. 
Eluxivo Featured By Owner Feb 12, 2015
based on the comic, the film or an amalgam of both?
QuantumBranching Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2015
The comic.
beedok Featured By Owner Dec 12, 2014
Thanks for the fave!
beedok Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2014
Make that faves. :D
what do you think about a scenario based on this oldish thread?…

Edit: Actually,  Maybe I'm wanting an opposite scenario.  Do you think the first Balkan War could have been prevented?  I'm looking to preserve a 1912 sized ottomans or at least an Ottoman with Albania.
Todyo1798 Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
So apparently your work is popular on reddit :P…
QuantumBranching Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2014
Ah, fame at last! :)
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