In the bizarre region of the Yharnam River, where there was an enormous concentration of spiritual energy due to the countless spirits that formed from the corpses thrown into the waters from the top of Hemwick, I expected to find nothing but decay and lamentation.
The spiritual saturation was so intense that it drew in all sorts of living beings. Even so, against all known logic, there stood a cheerful, lively village on the outskirts of a gigantic forest, the territory of a fearsome creature whose nature I did not yet understand.
Finding that village was, in itself, a surprise. More surprising still was its condition.
Everywhere I had gone where spirituality accumulated to such a degree because of wandering spirits, the air grew heavy and melancholic, as though the living shared, without even knowing it, the unhappiness of the dead.
There, however, the atmosphere was light. Almost festive.
Before I came within a kilometer, I could already hear laughter. Frank, carefree guffaws that seemed out of place upon that accursed soil.
The entire hamlet received me with sincere joy, as if they had not seen an outsider in decades. And yet they welcomed me as though my presence had been expected.
One of the things that most intrigued me was the number of cats.
There were, at the very least, a hundred of them. Watchful felines, with keen eyes and unsettling intelligence, scattered across the streets, rooftops, and thresholds, observing everything and everyone.
I asked the village elder the reason for so many cats, and he answered with serene devotion, almost reverently:
"These cats are our guardians, protectors of the forest that surrounds us. They are the direct offspring of our Lord, the Cat God, Ulthar."
I decided to remain a few more days in the village to study more about this cat god, for I had never heard of a divinity so intriguing as He.
"A cat god? How… strange. He could be the god of so many things. Why cats?" That was one of my thoughts.
My first night was somewhat turbulent, chiefly because my bed was infested with cat hair, which set my nose off.
For some reason, when I began to sneeze, many cats started entering my room, making me sneeze even more. I swear I saw some of them laughing at me.
They truly are playful animals. Even when I removed them from my bed, they returned to rub themselves against my face.
On the following night, I learned that a cult would be held for Ulthar. The elder invited me to take part.
The ritual did not take place in the village, but in the heart of the forest. There I found something peculiar: a miniature replica of an Egyptian temple, like those raised to the gods of the desert. It measured some sixty centimeters in every direction, perfect for a cat.
Curtains concealed the entrance, preventing the faithful from seeing their god. The elder told us that Ulthar, being a divinity, could not be seen by mortals, for this would be dangerous to our sanity. For some reason, I felt there was nothing inside the temple, even as I sensed a divine authority emanating from somewhere.
The cult was simple. There was no ecstasy, no sacrifices. Only silent devotion. At the end of the worship, the elder approached me and said:
"The Great Ulthar wishes to speak with you."
I found it strange. After reflecting, I understood that Ulthar did not allow outsiders for some reason. He did not wish his faith to spread. Even so, he allowed my entry.
Perhaps I had amused him.
When everyone had gone, I knelt before the temple. Soon, cats of every shape and color appeared: brown, orange, white, gray, and black cats; long-haired and hairless cats; fat and thin; kittens, adults, and old ones. There were all kinds.
They approached me and formed a circle around me. They watched me like patient predators.
Then a voice echoed from every direction:
"You are Bartholomew, are you not?"
When I caught my breath, I perceived the impossible.
All the cats spoke at once.
"Yes," I replied, swallowing hard while forcing a nervous smile.
They smiled. Other cats brought a small table, a teapot, and a cup. They set it before me.
"Drink."
I obeyed. At the same time, a cat drank with me. All the others expressed the same satisfaction.
"You… are all these cats?"
One of them seemed surprised. Another spoke behind me:
"You are sharper than they say. I am all the cats."
Ulthar stressed the word "all" for some reason I did not yet understand. I decided to ignore it for the moment and ask what I was most curious about:
"Why do you not permit outsiders? And why did you let me in?"
Something watched me from behind as a cat answered in front of me:
"It is merely an experiment. I desire no interference. I allowed you here because I found you interesting."
We spoke for a long time. It was strange to converse with a being that spoke from every direction; strange to look at a cat that had just spoken while another spoke behind me. I feel Ulthar took great pleasure in my confusion.
Ulthar suggested that I write about my adventures and publish them, so that he might read them.
I asked how he would know when I published something so limited to small cities.
He laughed.
"You did not understand. I am not only these cats. I am all the cats."
In that instant, I understood what he had wished to emphasize earlier: Ulthar was "all" the cats on Earth.
From those adored in Ancient Egypt, to those pampered by lonely ladies, to those abandoned and mistreated.
All were Ulthar, and he was all of them.
He explained, vaguely, that many known gods were beings that came from beyond our universe. Some devoured worlds, others watched, and a few amused themselves.
Ulthar amused himself with us.
He told me that those who came from space were the most powerful and also the most dangerous, since the safety of all humanity depended only on our being interesting enough to be kept alive a little longer… or not.
I asked, frightened, yet with a brazen smile:
"If they are the most dangerous and I should not trust them, why should I trust you?"
All the cats stopped.
I believe not only those around me, but all those in the entire world.
They smiled and said in unison:
"And who said you should?"
In that moment, my entire body prickled. I sweated so much it was as though I had run a marathon. The presence of those cats around me, and of those watching me from afar in the forest, was overwhelming.
Far more terrifying than anything I had ever witnessed.
Yet, through my immense luck and Ulthar's benevolence, they only laughed at me and said:
"I am of a species that unifies the minds of living beings with the goal of becoming the sole mind of the universe."
"I could destroy all of you in an instant, but I do not wish to. Not at this moment."
"Therefore, you must at least understand this: you are nothing. You are nothing. You are speaking with me only because you are interesting, which is to say, if you wish to remain alive…"
"Be more interesting."
Then I understood how insignificant we are.
We are insignificant. So insignificant that it is almost comical to remember we once believed ourselves the center of everything.
In truth, we are nothing but dust before beings as vast as Ulthar.
We are ants whose lives rest in the hands of beings far greater than all of us.
Since then, I write.
I do not know whether I do so of my own will, or because somewhere a cat reads every word and decides whether I am still interesting