Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn
In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming
When the road dips again there are stretches of marshland that one instinctively dislikes, and indeed almost fears at evening when unseen whippoorwills chatter and the fireflies come out in abnormal profusion to dance to the raucous, creepily insistent rhythms of stridently piping bullfrogs.
And out of the midst of it shone two burning points like eyes, and I saw a writhing and stirring as of limbs, and something moved and lifted up what might have been an arm.
They were not composed altogether of flesh and blood. They had shape...but that shape was not made of matter.
When the stars were right, They could plunge from world to world through the sky; but when the stars were wrong, They could not live. But although They no longer lived, They would never really die. They all lay in stone houses in Their great city of R'lyeh, preserved by the spells of mighty Cthulhu for a glorious resurrection when the stars and the earth might once more be ready for them.
That is not dead which can eternal lie.
And with strange aeons even death may die.