If I say that my somewhat extravagant imagination yielded simultaneous pictures of an octopus, a dragon, and a human caricature, I shall not be unfaithful to the spirit of the thing.
- HP Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu Part I. "The Horror in Clay"
Somewhere off the coast of Whalestrand
March 1st, 2023
It was not yet Kobber season. Not by two months yet. But even so, Whalestrand was making preparations already. Long-term hotel stays were being prepared for, local tourist traps were gearing up. Even local law enforcement and military bases were gearing up, ready to assist and/or detain when it came to the more destructive habits of the transient superheroes. Almost everyone in the city was on high alert, waiting for the excitement that came with the Kobbers.
So the crew of the research ship søhest weren't too surprised when a Kobber appeared before them and made a request. After all, they'd been expecting something like this. Plenty of science-minded Kobbers would have wanted to take a look at the ocean surrounding their temporary new home, just in case it was hiding some nasty secrets. Money was no object - they'd been promised handsome compensation for their trouble. And, in any case, it was their job to do whatever it was
What did give them a moment's pause, however, was where the Kobber wanted to go.
They'd asked if he was correct, and he insisted. One of them - only one - objected, although not very strongly. Dark things were said to have on that stretch of water, he said. No fishermen cast their nets there, no sailboats crossed it. No divers ever went near it, and those who did swore off the place the moment they came back. If they ever came back - two people had vanished and one had washed up on the beach two days later, mutilated in a manner like nothing the coroner could describe. It was, in summary, bad luck to go near that place.
But as it wasn't a very strong objection, and since they were scientists who had been paid a healthy sum, they saw no real reason to refuse. So, in a week's time, the Søhest sailed out one grey, foggy March morning, with the sun struggling to come through, towards the spot.
And when they went, the hestesko, or "horseshoe", came with them, as it always did. The modified triton submersible, only big enough for one, was a constant companion. It had helped in mapping out the shoreline, in charting the health of the reefs and in retrieving important specimens from the floor of the sea. But now it was going to go somewhere it had never been before - a sheer abyss, the drop of the continental shelf that formed a solid wall of rock facing out into the open ocean. It had never gone as far as this, nor really dived as deep as had been requested. And now was that time.
In moments, the Kobber had climbed inside the hestesko. The entrance lid was shut and screwed tightly, the instruments checked and the engine turned on. With a shout from the captain and a whirring of gears, the craft was hoisted out over the open water, then dropped into the rippling grey sea. And in a matter of moments, in a whirring of motors and a flurry of bubbles, it had begun its long descent into the depths.
But as the crew watched their monitors, glancing out occasionally across the iron, rippling ocean, they were desparetly trying to put something out of their minds. And that something was the reason why this place, far out from the shores of Whalestrand, was sometimes called helvedes mund.
Or, translated from the local tongue, "the mouth of hell".
