As I embarked once more upon the hallowed ritual of reading a tale of cosmic dread each day during the somber month of October, delving into the works of that master of unnameable horrors, H. P. Lovecraft, I found myself unprepared for the humble beginnings of certain themes that would later ascend to prominence in his mythos. Consider Nyarlathotep, who first slithered forth into Lovecraft’s dark pantheon in the 1920 prose poem of the same name. It is in that brief and uncanny work that we first glimpse the horror that would later manifest again, notably in The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, where Nyarlathotep—assuming the guise of a pharaoh—confronts the dreamer, Randolph Carter.
Further still, in the 21st sonnet of Fungi from Yuggoth, the tale is retold, a whispered echo of that earlier malign visitation. In “The Dreams in the Witch House,” Nyarlathotep reappears, now cloaked as the “Black Man” of witchcraft lore, a dread figure who haunts Walter Gilman, a diabolical pact-maker mistaken for a man of African descent, though his visage is more insidious than any mortal could fathom. Lastly, in “The Haunter of the Dark,” the bat-winged monstrosity in the Starry Wisdom church’s steeple is none other than Nyarlathotep, who loathes the touch of light.
A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not hands, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low.
Today’s’ tale, “Nyarlathotep,” unfolds, shrouded in the narrator’s palpable dread—a fear that grips all of humanity as Nyarlathotep, claiming to have emerged from the black abyss of antiquity, spreads across the land. His arrival in each city plunges the inhabitants into nightmares of an apocalyptic kind. Upon reaching the narrator’s city, Nyarlathotep demonstrates his horrific, arcane powers, yet the narrator dismisses them as mere charlatanism. The city soon descends into ruin, as light fails and the streets fall into madness.
The narrator, amidst a trance-like procession, stumbles into the frozen countryside, where an abyss beckons. He is drawn into a rift of endless horror, beholding visions of a decaying universe ruled by mindless, ancient gods—Nyarlathotep ever their messenger, their soul, the harbinger of inevitable doom.