Random Lovecraft bot

Fear had lurked on Tempest Mountain for more than a century.

He returned unharmed, married in 1814, and became a father on that memorable night of September 23, 1815, when a great gale drove the waters of the bay over half the town, and floated a tall sloop well up Westminster Street so that its masts almost tapped the Harris windows in symbolic affirmation that the new boy, Welcome, was a seaman's son.

The next morning both chips and beaker were gone without trace, and only a charred spot marked the place on the wooden shelf where they had been.

He had, they insisted, been struck by lightning the autumn before, and now lay buried behind the neglected sunken gardens.

On January 6, 1931, Lake, Pabodie, Daniels, all six of the students, four mechanics, and myself flew directly over the south pole in two of the great planes, being forced down once by a sudden high wind, which, fortunately, did not develop into a typical storm.

Normal beings seldom visited the locality till the state police were formed, and even now only infrequent troopers patrol it.

One had to be careful of one's imagination in the lee of those overshadowing mountains of madness.

He had not left the manuscript all night, but sat at his table under the electric light turning page after page with shaking hands as fast as he could decipher the cryptic text.

We consisted of four men from the University--Pabodie, Lake of the biology department, Atwood of the physics department--also a meteorologist--and myself, representing geology and having nominal command, also sixteen assistants: seven graduate students from Miskatonic and nine skilled mechanics.

Five slightly longer reddish tubes start from inner angles of starfish-shaped head and end in saclike swellings of same color which, upon pressure, open to bell-shaped orifices two inches maximum diameter and lined with sharp, white tooth-like projections--probable mouths.

Of course, we must have had some natural theory in the back of our heads to steady our faculties for the moment.

In spite of all the prevailing horrors we were left with enough sheer scientific zeal and adventurousness to wonder about the unknown realm beyond those mysterious mountains.

There was a crushed and apparently somewhat melted mass of iron which had certainly been the lantern; while a bent pail and twisted iron hoops beside it, both half-fused, seemed to hint at the remnants of the pail.

They were infamous, nightmare sculptures even when telling of age-old, bygone things; for Shoggoths and their work ought not to be seen by human beings or portrayed by any beings.

He knew it would be of no use, and hoped that the summer's strange growths would draw all the poison from the soil.

If so, where were they?