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Lovecraft didn’t know why John Steinbeck visited him as often as he did. Usually, when humans found out the truth about him, they had one of two reactions - either they fled in fright or they asked him for something. That was the way it had been for centuries. But John didn’t ask for contracts or flee in terror. No, in fact, John was not afraid of him at all and the only thing Steinbeck seemed to ever ask from him was Lovecraft’s company.
Lovecraft couldn’t help but find that perplexing. No human had really wanted to converse with him before. Not that he blamed them. Even he didn’t find himself to be a very engaging conversational partner. He was still unfamiliar with a lot of modern human culture so conversations often had to be interrupted to explain something to him. Because he was so unfamiliar with modern human society, he often preferred to simply listen to others, but even that took him a second sometimes, depending how his conversational partner was talking. It often took a moment for his brain to process the words being given to him, the words being turned like blocks in his mind and translated into something he could more easily understand. Human language was advancing far too fast in his opinion. Human beings not only had hundreds of different languages, but they also got more and more complicated as time went on. One day, he feared he was going to sleep for too long and completely lose the ability to converse with humans at all. So whenever he was awake, he tried his best to catch up, but it took time. More time than most people had the patience for.
Conversations with him often left people feeling annoyed.
But John never seemed frustrated by his slowness like other humans. He would just wait for Lovecraft to make sense of the information with a patient smile on his face. If he could tell Lovecraft was still lost, he would then either reiterate what he said with a different phrasing or teach Lovecraft about said thing, even showing him an example if he could.
Like now, John was showing him a handful of soil, talking about the properties, the different bacteria within it, and what made it different from other soils with a passionate intensity, all because Lovecraft had been confused on what John meant when he was talking about what soils his family used. Lovecraft himself couldn’t see what John found so exciting about what to him, was just dirt, but he still found himself trying to make the effort to learn anyhow, if only not to be rude.
But despite his efforts, he still found his mind wandering a bit. He knew John wouldn’t mind too much. Lovecraft was pretty sure John just liked having someone to talk to, even if that person was basically just acting as an ear. He studied John’s talking face, thinking about the first night they met.
He hadn’t meant to be discovered by the farmer. It had been an accident of pure carelessness on his part.
About a month and a half ago, Lovecraft had fulfilled a contract with another human. The job had been an easy one, but unfortunately, it had to take place right in the middle of America, far from anywhere that was an ocean - and since Lovecraft was still confused by the complexities of human transportation, that meant he had to trudge all the way back to an ocean source, or at least, a river leading there, by foot.
Not that he minded too much. It was tedious and annoying and tiresome, but so were a lot of other things when he awoke from a slumber. Besides, this wasn’t the first time he had to go through something like this. He had a whole system in place. Walk to the nearest large water source - be it a pond or lake - and stay there for a couple of days to nap and rest up, and then at night, when no one was around, slip out and continue his journey.
His current stay was at a decent-sized pond in a wooded rural area. The water was dirt-brown and smelled of pond-scum, but Lovecraft didn’t mind. Eldritch horrors such as himself weren’t too picky about living accommodations. As long as it was wet and he could be completely submerged underwater, he was fine.
Things had been going perfectly well for a while. He napped a majority of the time, the hot sun up at the surface warming the water to a comfortable temperature. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was grabbing bites to eat. There was quite a number of things to munch on here. The small fish that lived in the pond, a turtle, a raccoon, and a stray dog had all become meals during his stay here. But even all of those creatures weren’t enough to satiate his hunger. That was one of the inconveniences of being an Eldritch horror. He was constantly hungry and it took quite a bit to quell his hunger. It was easy in the ocean. A few giant squids and he was good to go for a while. But here, he didn’t have such luxuries and had to take anything that happened by.
One night, deciding to give the fish he had been terrorizing a break, he poked his eyes above the water and watched the shore carefully, seeing if some hapless animal would stop to take a drink. And eventually, after a few minutes of waiting, something did eventually show up. A skinny black tom cat with glowing amber eyes approached the water cautiously and began lapping it with its tongue, its body tense and poised to run if needed. Unfortunately for it however, Lovecraft very rarely missed his catch.
So he launched his tentacles out. The cat had jerked back, but by then it was too late. His tentacles wrapped tightly around its body like a bunch of snakes, restricting its movements. It tried to yowl, but he used another tentacle to shut its muzzle closed, not wanting its caterwauling to possibly alert anyone who might be nearby.
He had been about to drag the cat underwater and feast, when suddenly a voice made him freeze.
“I got to admit , I didn’t know what I was expecting to be living here, but certainly not something like you.”
Lovecraft slowly moved his gaze and saw a tall, slender man with a youthful face grinning at him. Lovecraft could see that he had been hiding behind a tree, and it left him wondering how long the blond-haired man had been standing or sitting there, waiting for something to happen.
Lovecraft debated on what to do. He didn’t want this man hollering and screaming and causing a fuss, but if he killed him, then he’d be forced to flee. Should he offer the man a bribe in exchange for his silence?
Before he could weigh his options fully, the boy tipped the flat cap resting on his straw-blond hair slightly and said, “My name’s John Steinbeck. What’s yours if you don’t mind me asking?”
Lovecraft blinked, caught off-guard by how casual John was being. That was certainly a new reaction. But oh well. At least the man was being quiet, which saved Lovecraft the effort of having to kill him. So slowly, he said, “Howard. Howard Phillips Lovecraft to be exact.” He had gone under many different pseudonyms during his time, but that one had always been a particular favorite of his and it was the one he used the most. Looking at John a bit more, he said, “Tell me John, does anyone…”
“If you’re about to ask if anyone else knows about you, then no,” John provided helpfully, walking closer to the shore of the lake. Lovecraft in return moved closer as well.
“Then how did you…?” Lovecraft began, trying to comprehend how that was possible. Was this all just some weird coincidence? Had John simply been walking by and happened to see him peeking through the water and had decided to investigate?
John pointed his thumb behind him and said, “My family and I live in a little farmhouse down over there, and I was just noticing some strange things. Like for some reason, the dogs wouldn’t quit barking in the direction of the pond for whatever reason, and when I went on my daily walks, I noticed the local wildlife was acting more skittish around the pond than usual. Finally, when that ‘coon that lived underneath our house mysteriously disappeared, I figured something was up.”
Crossing his arms, and still maintaining a lackadaisical air, John continued, “So I figured I would try to find out what was causing all the trouble. Though honestly, I was expecting something like one of those monster-sized catfishes, or at worse, a gator some fool released here. Didn’t expect to see someone like you living in the pond.”
Lovecraft didn’t know how to respond. He was still trying to figure out what John would do now. Was he going to tell?
John, once again, seemed to read his mind. “I won’t tell anyone about you, by the way.” Right when Lovecraft was about to feel a modicum of relief, John lifted his index finger and added, “On one condition.”
All the relief that had been in Lovecraft suddenly drained out of him. Great. Here it comes. He was going to get stuck doing another job and -
“Let the cat you have go.”
Lovecraft blinked in surprise once again. That hadn’t been the kind of request he’d thought he’d get. Admittedly, Lovecraft had almost completely forgotten the cat’s existence since John showed up, but it was indeed still bound in his tentacles, fruitlessly trying to struggle free, its claws digging uselessly into the thick flesh of one of the tentacles.
“Not going to lie, I’m not particularly fond of cats myself, but a couple of my sisters are big animal lovers and that guy you got there is one of our barn cats. Mean as shit to me, but he likes my sisters' well enough. The youngest of them has already been grieving the disappearance of the raccoon, which I assume was your doing, so I would ask that you kindly spare them the grief, please.” John explained.
Lovecraft hadn’t missed the slightly dark undertones in John’s voice. His words and expressions were as light as ever, but there was a darkness that made it clear that what he said was more a kindly-worded demand than an actual request.
It was an easy one to follow, he supposed, but Lovecraft still felt a bit reluctantly. He had already went through the effort of catching the meal and who knew how long it would take to catch a new one?
Voice and expression teetering dangerously close to a human pout, Lovecraft petulantly mumbled, “But I’m hungry…”
Now it was John who was blinking in surprise at his words, but eventually he broke into a laugh. Wiping at the corner of his eyes, he said, “You’re a funny man, Lovecraft.” Then, kneeling down near the edge of the pond so that he was closer to Lovecraft’s eye level, he said, “Tell you what, you let the cat go, and I’ll bring you back something to eat. Deal?”
Lovecraft had hesitated for a moment. For all he knew, John would just run back to the barn and alert everyone of his presence. But then again, John seemed to be being genuine. Lovecraft couldn’t sense deception in him like he could with other human beings. Besides, even if he was wrong and John did fetch people, then Lovecraft could deal with them. It’d be tedious, but he had managed to decimate crowds of people before. Plus, if John was being genuine, then the idea of eating something cooked was more appealing than raw cat meat. He had to give humans credit, their culinary skills had always impressed him.
So, slowly and gently, he set the cat on the ground and released his hold on it, where it promptly darted off into the night, Lovecraft returning his tentacles back into hands. John had tipped his hat once more, and said, “I knew you would see reason. Now I’ll go hold up my end of the deal.”
Lovecraft had watched him go passively, hoping John was being serious about not bringing people. Not only because he would have to fight, but because now the boy got him craving cooked food and he didn’t want to be let down.
After about ten minutes passed, John did indeed come back with a plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and corn. Handing the plate over, he said, “Was going to save this for tomorrow for anyone who wanted it, but I figured you need it more. It’s a bit cold cause Ma stored it in the refrigerator, but I’m assuming if you’re eating raccoons and cats raw, then you wouldn’t be too bothered.”
Lovecraft had shook his head. No, he didn’t mind at all. Accepting the plate, he had immediately gotten to work. Part of him wanted to be more natural and eat the food with his fingers, but modern humans were strangely insistent on the use of utensils with most food, and since John had given him a fork, Lovecraft reluctantly tried to shovel the food in his mouth as fast, but as polite as he could.
The meal had been tasty. Probably a lot better than how the cat would’ve tasted. He actually felt a sense of disappointment when he finished the plate, but knowing John most likely didn’t have anymore, he set the plate down on the ground next to where John was sitting and watching him, and dipped his head, saying, “Thank you for the meal.”
John had let out a chuckle and said, “You’re pretty polite for a guy who lives in a pond and eats cats.” Then he nodded towards the plate and added, “Trusting too. I could’ve poisoned that for all you knew.”
Lovecraft blinked, before he said, “You’re right. I didn’t think of that... “
“You don’t sound too concerned.”
Lovecraft just shrugged and said, “It wouldn’t work on me.”
Human poisons and bullets may have advanced with the passage of time as well, but one thing that never changed was the fact that they were ineffective against him.
“Really?!” John exclaimed in shock, leaning over with interest. “ If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is your Ability? It seems er- aquatic-based from what I’ve seen, but why would poison not work on you? Is there some sort of squid and octopus immune to poison?”
Oh. John was assuming he was one of the humans born with an Ability. Well, Lovecraft wasn’t going to lie to him.
“I don’t have an Ability.”
“You… don’t?” John said slowly, skepticism on his face. Arching an eyebrow, he said, “Then how do you explain you living in a pond and having tentacles?”
Lovecraft let out a sigh through his nose. Great, he was going to have this conversation. He tried to see if he could get out of it. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“I have all the time in the world,” John said immediately.
So, Lovecraft proceeded to tell him the truth. Honestly, that was when he thought John would turn against him. People who weren’t actively looking for him usually got disturbed when he revealed his true origins. At best, they just thought he was some sort of crazy man making up nonsense. At worst, they freaked out and tried to kill him.
But John did neither of those things. Instead, he just got more curious. He asked Lovecraft if he could feel his tentacles, which he had allowed at the time, and then answered whatever questions John could think of about the ocean. Apparently John’s family never got to see the beach or the ocean and he was very clearly curious about it.
The only thing he could remember denying John was when John wanted to see him in his true form. That form took a lot of energy to form into and it left him drained when he turned back into his human form. But he promised John that if there was an opportunity, he would show him, which John seemed pleased with.
Lovecraft remember at one point saying, “I am surprised you believe me on all of this. Most humans don’t.”
John shrugged. “You don’t seem like a liar. Besides, I mean, you live in a pond and talk like you haven’t talked in forever, no offense.”
Lovecraft shrugged his shoulders, “None taken.”
“So I figured based on what I’ve seen, it makes sense.”
Lovecraft supposed he couldn’t argue with that logic.
“Besides, whether you are telling the truth or not, the point is, you are weird… and you know what, it feels good to not be the only weird one here,” John had said cryptically.
“I apologize, but what do you mean by that?”
“Let me show you,” John said with a mysterious smile. John had then began rummaging through one of the pockets of his overalls and pulled out a switchblade. For a moment, Lovecraft braced, wondering if John was going to try and attack him like some kind of animal. But instead, John rolled up one of his sleeves, flipped out the blade, put the blade to the skin of his arm and made a small cut.
Lovecraft had to admit he was confused.
“It’ll make sense in a moment,” John assured, not seeming to care about the wound he had put in his arm. Rummaging through his pockets once more, he pulled out a bag of seeds and ripped open the packaging. Taking out a seed, he placed it in the cut on his arm. Lovecraft then watched as suddenly, veins spread up from John’s arms and a vine of some sort came out from the wound, some of the tendrils dripping with blood.
“Neat, huh?” John said.
That had also been the first time Lovecraft had seen the Grapes of Wrath ability. He had thought it was sort of pointless. What was the use of being able to grow grape vines? But John had explained to him almost the rest of the night what it could be used for, and had even shown him some examples and Lovecraft was admittedly impressed. Abilities amongst humans could be hit or miss at the best of times, but John’s was indeed impressive, although John lamented he didn’t get to use it too often as people in these parts weren’t fond of those who had Abilities apparently.
Lovecraft couldn’t really remember what the rest of their conversations had consisted of that night, but he remembered that they had talked until the morning sun had begun to rise up. John had laughed when he noticed and said, “Man, time really flew by didn’t it?”
It really had. Lovecraft himself was surprised. Had he really had a conversation with this human for so long? He could barely get through an hour of conversation with his business partners without immediately wanting to nap.
He remembered John having stood up and said, “Will I be able to see you tonight?”
Lovecraft had blinked. “You want… to see me?”
John nodded. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re an interesting fellow, Lovecraft.”
Lovecraft had been shocked but had simply nodded. He hadn’t planned on moving yet anyway, and he supposed he hadn’t hated his conversation with John.
John grinned and said, “Then I’ll make sure to see you. But for now, I got to get back and shower before Ma has a conniption with me.” But before he left, he paused and said, “And don’t worry. Like I mentioned, this whole thing is just our little secret, right?”
Lovecraft had only nodded.
And ever since then, it had been a routine for John to visit him for a couple hours every night, usually bringing a plate of leftover food for him to enjoy. Usually it was John who did most of the talking, but something about John and his lightness and friendliness made Lovecraft feel the need to try and converse back, usually defaulting to talking about the stuff he did on a normal basis and explaining to John what different animals tasted like.
Lovecraft was genuinely surprised at how close he felt towards this human. He had never felt this way before. Honestly, he should’ve left the pond a good week ago… but instead, he had been staying. Every day, when he wasn’t napping or eating, he was awaiting eagerly for the night to fall and for John to come over and talk to him.
Lovecraft was beginning to wonder if he had actually made what humans call a friend.
That thought made him feel strangely happy.
Suddenly, he found his attention caught when his ears noted that John had stopped his soil explanation to casually say, “You know, you don’t have to keep sleeping here in this scum-filled pond. We have an extra guest bedroom. I am sure if I sweet-talked my family a bit, I could convince them to let you stay a few nights.”
Lovecraft blinked. He had not expected that. Protesting, he said, “Are you sure-”
He remembered John explaining about the financial problems his family kept facing. He didn’t want to be a burden. But he did want to see the farm John talked about so much and his family and-
John waved his hand, “Don’t worry about food or any of that. I have extras to bring you for a reason. We have enough for at least one other person. Besides, I have entertained my sibling’s friends for sleepovers enough that the family can allow me to have one friend over, at least for a while. So … what do you think? Want to come out of that lake and sleep on an actual bed?”
Lovecraft hesitated. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t of even got attached to John as much as he did. He should be going back to the ocean, he should be...
John smiled at him and offered his hand, interrupting Lovecraft’s thoughts. Winking, he said, “Don’t worry. All the sea creature stuff is our little secret, right?”
Suddenly, all thoughts of the ocean disappeared. Lovecraft instead just found himself grabbing John’s hand.