Lovecraft, H P & Bishop, Zealia - The Curse Of Yig

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The Curse of Yig

by H. P. Lovecraft and Zealia Bishop

Written 1928

Published November 1929 in Weird Tales, Volume 14, Number 5, Pages 625-36.

In 1925 I went into Oklahoma looking for snake lore, and I came out with a fear of

snakes that will last me the rest of my life. I admit it is foolish, since there are natural

explanations for everything I saw and heard, but it masters me none the less. If the old

story had been all there was to it, I would not have been so badly shaken. My work as an

American Indian ethnologist has hardened me to all kinds of extravagant legendry, and I

know that simple white people can beat the redskins at their own game when it comes to

fanciful inventions. But I can't forget what I saw with my own eyes at the insane asylum

in Guthrie.

I called at that asylum because a few of the oldest settlers told me I would find something

important there. Neither Indians nor white men would discuss the snake-god legends I

had come to trace. The oil-boom newcomers, of course, knew nothing of such matters,

and the red men and old pioneers were plainly frightened when I spoke of them. Not

more than six or seven people mentioned the asylum, and those who did were careful to

talk in whispers. But the whisperers said that Dr. McNeill could shew me a very terrible

relic and tell me all I wanted to know. He could explain why Yig, the half-human father

of serpents, is a shunned and feared object in central Oklahoma, and why old settlers

shiver at the secret Indian orgies which make the autumn days and nights hideous with

the ceaseless beating of tom-toms in lonely places.

It was with the scent of a hound on the trail that I went to Guthrie, for I had spent many

years collecting data on the evolution of serpent-worship among the Indians. I had always

felt, from well-defined undertones of legend and archaeology, that great Quetzalcoatl—

benign snake-god of the Mexicans—had had an older and darker prototype; and during

recent months I had well-nigh proved it in a series of researches stretching from

Guatemala to the Oklahoma plains. But everything was tantalising and incomplete, for

above the border the cult of the snake was hedged about by fear and furtiveness.

Now it appeared that a new and copious source of data was about to dawn, and I sought

the head of the asylum with an eagerness I did not try to cloak. Dr. McNeill was a small,

clean-shaven man of somewhat advanced years, and I saw at once from his speech and

manner that he was a scholar of no mean attainments in many branches outside his

profession. Grave and doubtful when I first made known my errand, his face grew

thoughtful as he carefully scanned my credentials and the letter of introduction which a

kindly old ex-Indian agent had given me.

"So you've been studying the Yig legend, eh?" he reflected sententiously. "I know that

many of our Oklahoma ethnologists have tried to connect it with Quetzalcoatl, but I don't

The Curse of Yig

think any of them have traced the intermediate steps so well. You've done remarkable

work for a man as young as you seem to be, and you certainly deserve all the data we can

give.

"I don't suppose old Major Moore or any of the others told you what it is I have here.

They don't like to talk about it, and neither do I. It is very tragic and very horrible, but

that is all. I refuse to consider it anything supernatural. There's a story about it that I'll tell

you after you see it—a devilish sad story, but one that I won't call magic. It merely shews

the potency that belief has over some people. I'll admit there are times when I feel a

shiver that's more than physical, but in daylight I set all that down to nerves. I'm not a

young fellow any more, alas!

"To come to the point, the thing I have is what you might call a victim of Yig's curse—a

physically living victim. We don't let the bulk of the nurses see it, although most of them

know it's here. There are just two steady old chaps whom I let feed it and clean out its

quarters—used to be three, but good old Stevens passed on a few years ago. I suppose I'll

have to break in a new group pretty soon; for the thing doesn't seem to age or change

much, and we old boys can't last forever. Maybe the ethics of the near future will let us

give it a merciful release, but it's hard to tell.

"Did you see that single ground-glass basement window over in the east wing when you

came up the drive? That's where it is. I'll take you there myself now. You needn't make

any comment. Just look through the moveable panel in the door and thank God the light

isn't any stronger. Then I'll tell you the story—or as much as I've been able to piece

together."

We walked downstairs very quietly, and did not talk as we threaded the corridors of the

seemingly deserted basement. Dr. McNeill unlocked a grey-painted steel door, but it was

only a bulkhead leading to a further stretch of hallway. At length he paused before a door

marked B 116, opened a small observation panel which he could use only by standing on

tiptoe, and pounded several times upon the painted metal, as if to arouse the occupant,

whatever it might be.

A faint stench came from the aperture as the doctor unclosed it, and I fancied his

pounding elicited a kind of low, hissing response. Finally he motioned me to replace him

at the peep-hole, and I did so with a causeless and increasing tremor. The barred, ground-

glass window, close to the earth outside, admitted only a feeble and uncertain pallor; and

I had to look into the malodorous den for several seconds before I could see what was

crawling and wriggling about on the straw-covered floor, emitting every now and then a

weak and vacuous hiss. Then the shadowed outlines began to take shape, and I perceived

that the squirming entity bore some remote resemblance to a human form laid flat on its

belly. I clutched at the door-handle for support as I tried to keep from fainting.

The moving object was almost of human size, and entirely devoid of clothing. It was

absolutely hairless, and its tawny-looking back seemed subtly squamous in the dim,

ghoulish light. Around the shoulders it was rather speckled and brownish, and the head

was very curiously flat. As it looked up to hiss at me I saw that the beady little black eyes

The Curse of Yig

were damnably anthropoid, but I could not bear to study them long. They fastened

themselves on me with a horrible persistence, so that I closed the panel gaspingly and left

the creature to wriggle about unseen in its matted straw and spectral twilight. I must have

reeled a bit, for I saw that the doctor was gently holding my arm as he guided me away. I

was stuttering over and over again: "B-but for God's sake, what is it?"

Dr. McNeill told me the story in his private office as I sprawled opposite him in an easy-

chair. The gold and crimson of late afternoon changed to the violet of early dusk, but still

I sat awed and motionless. I resented every ring of the telephone and every whir of the

buzzer, and I could have cursed the nurses and internes whose knocks now and then

summoned the doctor briefly to the outer office. Night came, and I was glad my host

switched on all the lights. Scientist though I was, my zeal for research was half forgotten

amidst such breathless ecstasies of fright as a small boy might feel when whispered

witch-tales go the rounds of the chimney-corner.

It seems that Yig, the snake-god of the central plains tribes—presumably the primal

source of the more southerly Quetzalcoatl or Kukulcan—was an odd, half-

anthropomorphic devil of highly arbitrary and capricious nature. He was not wholly evil,

and was usually quite well-disposed toward those who gave proper respect to him and his

children, the serpents; but in the autumn he became abnormally ravenous, and had to be

driven away by means of suitable rites. That was why the tom-toms in the Pawnee,

Wichita, and Caddo country pounded ceaselessly week in and week out in August,

September, and October; and why the medicine-men made strange noises with rattles and

whistles curiously like those of the Aztecs and Mayas.

Yig's chief trait was a relentless devotion to his children—a devotion so great that the

redskins almost feared to protect themselves from the venomous rattlesnakes which

thronged the region. Frightful clandestine tales hinted of his vengeance upon mortals who

flouted him or wreaked harm upon his wriggling progeny; his chosen method being to

turn his victim, after suitable tortures, to a spotted snake.

In the old days of the Indian Territory, the doctor went on, there was not quite so much

secrecy about Yig. The plains tribes, less cautious than the desert nomads and Pueblos,

talked quite freely of their legends and autumn ceremonies with the first Indian agents,

and let considerable of the lore spread out through the neighbouring regions of white

settlement. The great fear came in the land-rush days of '89, when some extraordinary

incidents had been rumoured, and the rumours sustained, by what seemed to be hideously

tangible proofs. Indians said that the new white men did not know how to get on with

Yig, and afterward the settlers came to take that theory at face value. Now no old-timer in

middle Oklahoma, white or red, could be induced to breathe a word about the snake-god

except in vague hints. Yet after all, the doctor added with almost needless emphasis, the

only truly authenticated horror had been a thing of pitiful tragedy rather than of

bewitchment. It was all very material and cruel—even that last phase which ha caused so

much dispute.

Dr. McNeill paused and cleared his throat before getting down to his special story, and I

felt a tingling sensation as when a theatre curtain rises. The thing had begun when Walker

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摘要：

TheCurseofYigTheCurseofYigbyH.P.LovecraftandZealiaBishopWritten1928PublishedNovember1929inWeirdTales,Volume14,Number5,Pages625-36.In1925IwentintoOklahomalookingforsnakelore,andIcameoutwithafearofsnakesthatwilllastmetherestofmylife.Iadmititisfoolish,sincetherearenaturalexplanationsforeverythingIsawan...

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