The
influence of H.P. Lovecraft on fellow
pulp fiction writers can clearly be seen in Robert E. Howard’s The Hoofed Thing, a story that appeared
posthumously in Weirdbook Three—“the
fanzine of weird fiction”—in 1970. This
was a small print publication that started in 1968 and later on became more
successful in the mid-1970s and beyond. (The
particular issue that featured this story had a print run of just under 1000.)
Besides
Howard’s story, also known as Usurp the
Night, the issue contained Manly Wade Wellman’s Cryptic Summons, David Anthony Kraft’s Incantation, and the awesomely titled Say It With Spiders, by Janet Fox.
According
to Michael Ashley, in his Gateways to
Forever: The Story of Science Fiction Magazines 1970-1980, an early source
of stories for the new periodical was “the bottomless trunk of Robert E.
Howard”. Weirdbook struggled early on as it recapitulated the challenges
small press productions endure. It came
out only once every 10 to 12 months at first.
But Weirdbook was one of the
rare magazines that published weird fiction at the time, and soon grew in
stature and respectability. The magazine thrived for thirty years.
The Hoofed Thing is not one of Howard’s better
stories, and it may be that he did not originally intend for it to be published. Did Howard see the story as too derivative? Yet the work is interesting in showing the
interaction of Lovecraftian ideas and Howard’s own. The melodrama is over the top but
entertaining in itself. The story also features an important trope in
horror entertainments, that of the growing horror that must continually be
fed. (Parents of every species can
probably relate to this image on some level.)
The
early part of the story is very Lovecraftian in tone, moody, devoid of
dialogue, and focused on the character of a mysterious neighborhood
antiquarian. Attention is given to
architecture, scholarship, and a copy of Von Junzt’s Nameless Cults. However,
some unLovecraftian elements soon
appear: a woman, for one, an
affectionate dog, conversation among characters, and a big sword. The protagonist is an athletic man of action,
not an anxiety ridden scholar overwhelmed by cosmic fear.
The
narrator is Michael Strang, whose fiancé Marjory has lost her cat at the
beginning of the story. In fact, cats
are disappearing all over the neighborhood.
Strang surprises Marjory with a puppy, “a waddling, bench-legged bulldog
with a face like a gargoyle”. She
renames it Bozo, after the missing cat.
Then dogs begin disappearing
all over the neighborhood, then a few children, then a vagabond, and
then—Marjory! Michael suspects what the
readers already know: the disappearance
of pets, children, vagrants and fiancés is somehow connected with an eccentric
old man who lives in a dilapidated house down at the end of the street.
Strang
had visited the man—Mr. Stark—on several occasions, and found him to be “a
highly cultured man, a charming conversationalist, and a most courteous
host.” Mr. Stark also has a pet that he
keeps out of sight upstairs. Each time
Strang visits, the hoof-like footsteps grow louder, heavier, and more animated
overhead. It is hungry in the worst way.
Stark
appears to be an educated and more genteel version of Zechariah Whateley, the
evil patriarch of H.P. Lovecraft’s The
Dunwich Horror. Mr. Stark’s pet is
not an inter-dimensional half-breed spawn of Yog-Sothoth, as in Lovecraft’s
story. However, it took Mr. Stark considerable
wizardry and consultation of ancient manuscripts to obtain “the mewling,
squalling, naked thing from out the Abyss…”
Puppy chow consisted initially of live flies, spiders, insects, mice,
rats, rabbits and so forth, on up to Marjory.
Enraged
by the rude incarceration of his betrothed, Strang grabs an ancient broadsword
handed down in his family for eight centuries.
In many Howard stories, historical artifacts contain powerful racial
memories. These somehow reincarnate
ancient heroes into the bodies and minds of those who pick them up: “A black fury gripped me, bringing with it
the craft that extreme passion often brings.”
Here, Howard and his characters depart Dunwich and head for
Cimmeria. The remainder of the story is
much more recognizable as a Robert E. Howard story.
The
image of a horror that must be continually fed, and which grows ever larger,
more malevolent and more difficult to control, is not uncommon in horror or
science fiction. Think of “Audrey II” in
Little Shop of Horrors, commanding
Seymour to “Feed me!” It would be
interesting to speculate on the psychological origins of this archetypal
terror. That humans would be complicit
in nurturing a predatory horror only adds to the discomfort and growing fear.
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