“Are you there, Cthulhu? It’s me, Margaret. We’re moving today. I’m so scared. Suppose I hate my new school? Did you feel the same way when you were first entombed in the sunken city of R’lyeh? Maybe I shouldn’t complain—we’re only moving to Farbrook, N.J. and you’re stuck all the way down there, trapped beneath the Pacific Ocean.
“But, gosh, I’m really getting ahead of myself: for all you know, I could’ve been Shub-Niggurath or Yogash the Ghoul! But no, it’s just little old me: Margaret Simon from New York City. I’m 11, going on 12: Do you remember being that age? It’s awful scary. Between boys, bras and periods, my head’s spinning like a top. You must’ve felt the same thing when you first started growing a teeming mass of octopus-like feelers from your face. Did the other kids at school tease you for your scaly, rubbery-looking body? I hear ya, Cthulhu. It’s tough being a kid; I bet it’s just as tough being the Spawn of Nug.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m calling you, Cthulhu. Well, you see, my mom’s Christian and my dad’s Jewish, and it’s all left me feeling kind of confused—like I didn’t really fit in on either side, you know? I even tried talking to Jesus and to God like I’m talking to you now, but it just never clicked. But, for some reason, when you revealed yourself to me in dream, I could tell you were the cosmic deity I’d been looking for. And besides, if you’re good enough for the shape-shifting starspawn of Xoth to worship, you’re probably good enough for Margaret Simon of the Upper West Side.
“I mean, sure, some people say you’re a monstrosity whose mere appearance drives men insane. But don’t let them get you down! You and I both know that your return will make them ‘free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy.’ So, who are they to judge?
“Plus: you’re a great listener! Sure, maybe it’s just ‘cause you lurk, ever present, in our subconscious like a malevolent fog, but whatever the reason, I feel like you get me! Like you know what it’s like to be practically a teenager. For example, you know how your worshippers chant “In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming”? Well, sometimes I feel like I’m just waiting and dreaming too, you know? Waiting for something to happen. Dreaming about what my first kiss will be like. Pretty soon, I’ll be dating. It’s scary stuff, Cthulhu. I bet you felt the same way when you voyaged to the green binary star system and mated with Idh-yaa, huh?
“Between me and you, Cthulhu, I’m pretty anxious about puberty. I haven’t gotten my first period yet and I’m starting to feel like maybe there’s something wrong with me. How old were you when you first started tormenting the subconscious of mankind? Did you have any other Great Old Ones you could talk to about this stuff? Tsathoggua? I just hope I meet some friends I can talk to at my new school. (But knowing my luck, they’ll all be more interested shopping at the mall than bathing in blood at the Throne of Azatoth.)
“Well, Cthulhu, I better go and pack. I’m sure I’ll have lots to talk to you about once we’re all settled down in our new home. Promise that you’ll still be here, arrested in your death-like slumber in sunken R’lyeh as you await glorious resurrection. I’m gonna need your advice on bras.”
This piece originally ran on Weekly Humorist.