Dagon is a short story written by H. P. Lovecraft in July of 1917, and it was published two years later in November of 1919.
The Vagrant (issue #11) is where it was initially released, and it was later republished in a 1923 issue of Weird Tales, the magazine that saw much of Lovecraft’s best work printed.
The story is notable for being largely considered the first story in what we now call the “Cthulhu Mythos”.
This article will give you a summary and background of this short story, along with the full text below.
Summary of Dagon by H. P. Lovecraft
Dagon is told by an officer of World War I, who is now addicted to morphine, and is telling the story of why he has fallen to his current low.
He tells of being on a cargo ship that was captured by a German sea-raider in the Pacific. He would eventually escape and drift until he found himself a “black mire”, which was full of rotting fish and more foul stenches.
The man speculates that the area must have been part of the Pacific floor that was thrown up by volcanic activity, and it had been buried for millions of years, untouched until now.
Life on the Mire
He stays there for three days before proceeding on foot, looking for possible rescue. He eventually comes to a hill, which has a huge white stone monolith on it, a monolith that was clearly made by intelligent life.
The monolith contains hieroglyphics of various aquatic symbols, but also depicts fish-like men.
Then a creature emerges from the water nearby. It’s huge, and reminiscent of the fish-men carved into the monolith. It has huge scaled arms, and a fish-like head.
The man is terrified and flees back to his boat, survives a huge storm, and eventually wakes up in a San Francisco hospital, where he learns that he had been rescued by a U. S. ship. No one had seen the island, and no one believed his story.
He believes that the being he saw was the Philistine god, Dagon, a Fish-God, and his terror leads to his morphine addiction. We learn that this tale is actually the man’s suicide note.
But just at this moment, the man writes of hearing a noise at the door, and of a huge wet body banging itself against it.
His final words are “God, that hand! The window! The window!” leaving us to believe that the horrible monstrosities that had driven the man mad, had finally come for him.
Inspiration for Dagon
Dagon had several clear inspirations, including:
- Lovecraft’s Dream: Dagon was inspired by a dream that Lovecraft had, one where he felt like something oozy was sucking him down. He wrote the story after being encouraged by the editor of The Vagrant, W. Paul Cook, to continue writing.
- Sumerian Mythology: There is a Sumerian god named Dagon who is the fertility god of grains and fish. He is often depicted as part fish (think Merman), and sometimes wears a fish instead. The god also makes an appearance in the Old Testament. Lovecraft likely drew from this mythology.
Role in the Cthulhu Mythos
Dagon was the first story to fit into the Cthulhu Mythos, and has made numerous appearances since, including being mentioned in one other Lovecraft story: “The Shadow Over Innsmouth”.
Oddly enough, Lovecraft does not identify the fish-like monstrosity as being Dagon. This is more of an analogy that Lovecraft uses, drawing a parallel with the Bible.
It is likely that had Lovecraft intended to give the full name of the creature, it would have been something unpronouncement, like Cthulhu or any of the other Old Ones.
Let us also remember that this was an early story, and so thoughts of what would become a more detailed mythology had probably not fully formed in Lovecraft’s mind by this point.
Still, this story contains much of the elements found in classic Cthulhu Mythos literature, including:
- An island dragged up by volcanic activity
- A strange man-fish monster
- Ancient lost civilizations
- Going mad with terror at understanding the magnanimity of the universe
There have been several adaptations of Dagon, including the following:
- Dagon (2001 film): a film that adapts “Dagon” and “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” but draws more from the latter. It was directed by Stuart Gordan and written by Dennis Paoli.
- Dagon: War of Worlds (2015 audio drama): An adaptation was released by the H. P. Lovecraft Historical Society as part of their Dark Adventure Radio Theatre.
- Haunt of Horror (Marvel Comic): Marvel released an adaptation of the short story in their Haunt of Horror series.
Dagon In Popular Culture
In addition to the direct adaptations, Dagon has appeared or influenced the following:
- Dagon (novel by Fred Chappell): this novel adapted the short story as a Southern Gothic novel.
- Mahou Sentai Magiranger: A god in this series is based on Dagon.
- Dungeons & Dragons: The demon prince of the Abyss is called Dagon and shares similar characteristics.
- Terry Pratchett: This legendary author had several references to spooky occurrences associated with Dagon.
- Nile: This death metal band mentioned Dagon in their album, Those Whom the Gods Detest, on the track “4th Arra of Dagon.”
- The Illuminatus! Trilogy: Lovecraft and Dagon are referenced in this book about a fictional Lovecraft.
- Call of Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth: Dagon makes an appearance in this video game in an expanded role.
- Ben 10: Ultimate Alien: This kids show involved a cult called Esoterica which wanted to break the barrier between worlds and let their master (Daigon) to enter. Daigon, in this show, resembles Cthulhu more.
- Howard Lovecraft and the Undersea Kingdom: In this 2017 animated film, Dagon is shown as the ruler of the Undersea Kingdom.
Dagon: Full Text
I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below. Do not think from my slavery to morphine that I am a weakling or a degenerate. When you have read these hastily scrawled pages you may guess, though never fully realise, why it is that I must have forgetfulness or death.
It was in one of the most open and least frequented parts of the broad Pacific that the packet of which I was supercargo fell a victim to the German sea-raider. The great war was then at its very beginning, and the ocean forces of the Hun had not completely sunk to their later degradation; so that our vessel was made a legitimate prize, whilst we of her crew were treated with all the fairness and consideration due us as naval prisoners. So liberal, indeed, was the discipline of our captors, that five days after we were taken I managed to escape alone in a small boat with water and provisions for a good length of time.
When I finally found myself adrift and free, I had but little idea of my surroundings. Never a competent navigator, I could only guess vaguely by the sun and stars that I was somewhat south of the equator. Of the longitude I knew nothing, and no island or coast-line was in sight. The weather kept fair, and for uncounted days I drifted aimlessly beneath the scorching sun; waiting either for some passing ship, or to be cast on the shores of some habitable land. But neither ship nor land appeared, and I began to despair in my solitude upon the heaving vastnesses of unbroken blue.
The change happened whilst I slept. Its details I shall never know; for my slumber, though troubled and dream-infested, was continuous. When at last I awaked, it was to discover myself half sucked into a slimy expanse of hellish black mire which extended about me in monotonous undulations as far as I could see, and in which my boat lay grounded some distance away.
Though one might well imagine that my first sensation would be of wonder at so prodigious and unexpected a transformation of scenery, I was in reality more horrified than astonished; for there was in the air and in the rotting soil a sinister quality which chilled me to the very core. The region was putrid with the carcasses of decaying fish, and of other less describable things which I saw protruding from the nasty mud of the unending plain. Perhaps I should not hope to convey in mere words the unutterable hideousness that can dwell in absolute silence and barren immensity. There was nothing within hearing, and nothing in sight save a vast reach of black slime; yet the very completeness of the stillness and the homogeneity of the landscape oppressed me with a nauseating fear.
The sun was blazing down from a sky which seemed to me almost black in its cloudless cruelty; as though reflecting the inky marsh beneath my feet. As I crawled into the stranded boat I realised that only one theory could explain my position. Through some unprecedented volcanic upheaval, a portion of the ocean floor must have been thrown to the surface, exposing regions which for innumerable millions of years had lain hidden under unfathomable watery depths. So great was the extent of the new land which had risen beneath me, that I could not detect the faintest noise of the surging ocean, strain my ears as I might. Nor were there any sea-fowl to prey upon the dead things.
For several hours I sat thinking or brooding in the boat, which lay upon its side and afforded a slight shade as the sun moved across the heavens. As the day progressed, the ground lost some of its stickiness, and seemed likely to dry sufficiently for travelling purposes in a short time. That night I slept but little, and the next day I made for myself a pack containing food and water, preparatory to an overland journey in search of the vanished sea and possible rescue.
On the third morning I found the soil dry enough to walk upon with ease. The odour of the fish was maddening; but I was too much concerned with graver things to mind so slight an evil, and set out boldly for an unknown goal. All day I forged steadily westward, guided by a far-away hummock which rose higher than any other elevation on the rolling desert. That night I encamped, and on the following day still travelled toward the hummock, though that object seemed scarcely nearer than when I had first espied it. By the fourth evening I attained the base of the mound, which turned out to be much higher than it had appeared from a distance; an intervening valley setting it out in sharper relief from the general surface. Too weary to ascend, I slept in the shadow of the hill.
I know not why my dreams were so wild that night; but ere the waning and fantastically gibbous moon had risen far above the eastern plain, I was awake in a cold perspiration, determined to sleep no more. Such visions as I had experienced were too much for me to endure again. And in the glow of the moon I saw how unwise I had been to travel by day. Without the glare of the parching sun, my journey would have cost me less energy; indeed, I now felt quite able to perform the ascent which had deterred me at sunset. Picking up my pack, I started for the crest of the eminence.
I have said that the unbroken monotony of the rolling plain was a source of vague horror to me; but I think my horror was greater when I gained the summit of the mound and looked down the other side into an immeasurable pit or canyon, whose black recesses the moon had not yet soared high enough to illumine. I felt myself on the edge of the world; peering over the rim into a fathomless chaos of eternal night. Through my terror ran curious reminiscences of Paradise Lost, and of Satan’s hideous climb through the unfashioned realms of darkness.
As the moon climbed higher in the sky, I began to see that the slopes of the valley were not quite so perpendicular as I had imagined. Ledges and outcroppings of rock afforded fairly easy foot-holds for a descent, whilst after a drop of a few hundred feet, the declivity became very gradual. Urged on by an impulse which I cannot definitely analyse, I scrambled with difficulty down the rocks and stood on the gentler slope beneath, gazing into the Stygian deeps where no light had yet penetrated.
All at once my attention was captured by a vast and singular object on the opposite slope, which rose steeply about an hundred yards ahead of me; an object that gleamed whitely in the newly bestowed rays of the ascending moon. That it was merely a gigantic piece of stone, I soon assured myself; but I was conscious of a distinct impression that its contour and position were not altogether the work of Nature. A closer scrutiny filled me with sensations I cannot express; for despite its enormous magnitude, and its position in an abyss which had yawned at the bottom of the sea since the world was young, I perceived beyond a doubt that the strange object was a well-shaped monolith whose massive bulk had known the workmanship and perhaps the worship of living and thinking creatures.
Dazed and frightened, yet not without a certain thrill of the scientist’s or archaeologist’s delight, I examined my surroundings more closely. The moon, now near the zenith, shone weirdly and vividly above the towering steeps that hemmed in the chasm, and revealed the fact that a far-flung body of water flowed at the bottom, winding out of sight in both directions, and almost lapping my feet as I stood on the slope. Across the chasm, the wavelets washed the base of the Cyclopean monolith; on whose surface I could now trace both inscriptions and crude sculptures. The writing was in a system of hieroglyphics unknown to me, and unlike anything I had ever seen in books; consisting for the most part of conventionalised aquatic symbols such as fishes, eels, octopi, crustaceans, molluscs, whales, and the like. Several characters obviously represented marine things which are unknown to the modern world, but whose decomposing forms I had observed on the ocean-risen plain.
It was the pictorial carving, however, that did most to hold me spellbound. Plainly visible across the intervening water on account of their enormous size, were an array of bas-reliefs whose subjects would have excited the envy of a Doré. I think that these things were supposed to depict men—at least, a certain sort of men; though the creatures were shewn disporting like fishes in the waters of some marine grotto, or paying homage at some monolithic shrine which appeared to be under the waves as well. Of their faces and forms I dare not speak in detail; for the mere remembrance makes me grow faint. Grotesque beyond the imagination of a Poe or a Bulwer, they were damnably human in general outline despite webbed hands and feet, shockingly wide and flabby lips, glassy, bulging eyes, and other features less pleasant to recall. Curiously enough, they seemed to have been chiselled badly out of proportion with their scenic background; for one of the creatures was shewn in the act of killing a whale represented as but little larger than himself. I remarked, as I say, their grotesqueness and strange size; but in a moment decided that they were merely the imaginary gods of some primitive fishing or seafaring tribe; some tribe whose last descendant had perished eras before the first ancestor of the Piltdown or Neanderthal Man was born. Awestruck at this unexpected glimpse into a past beyond the conception of the most daring anthropologist, I stood musing whilst the moon cast queer reflections on the silent channel before me.
Then suddenly I saw it. With only a slight churning to mark its rise to the surface, the thing slid into view above the dark waters. Vast, Polyphemus-like, and loathsome, it darted like a stupendous monster of nightmares to the monolith, about which it flung its gigantic scaly arms, the while it bowed its hideous head and gave vent to certain measured sounds. I think I went mad then.
Of my frantic ascent of the slope and cliff, and of my delirious journey back to the stranded boat, I remember little. I believe I sang a great deal, and laughed oddly when I was unable to sing. I have indistinct recollections of a great storm some time after I reached the boat; at any rate, I know that I heard peals of thunder and other tones which Nature utters only in her wildest moods.
When I came out of the shadows I was in a San Francisco hospital; brought thither by the captain of the American ship which had picked up my boat in mid-ocean. In my delirium I had said much, but found that my words had been given scant attention. Of any land upheaval in the Pacific, my rescuers knew nothing; nor did I deem it necessary to insist upon a thing which I knew they could not believe. Once I sought out a celebrated ethnologist, and amused him with peculiar questions regarding the ancient Philistine legend of Dagon, the Fish-God; but soon perceiving that he was hopelessly conventional, I did not press my inquiries.
It is at night, especially when the moon is gibbous and waning, that I see the thing. I tried morphine; but the drug has given only transient surcease, and has drawn me into its clutches as a hopeless slave. So now I am to end it all, having written a full account for the information or the contemptuous amusement of my fellow-men. Often I ask myself if it could not all have been a pure phantasm—a mere freak of fever as I lay sun-stricken and raving in the open boat after my escape from the German man-of-war. This I ask myself, but ever does there come before me a hideously vivid vision in reply. I cannot think of the deep sea without shuddering at the nameless things that may at this very moment be crawling and floundering on its slimy bed, worshipping their ancient stone idols and carving their own detestable likenesses on submarine obelisks of water-soaked granite. I dream of a day when they may rise above the billows to drag down in their reeking talons the remnants of puny, war-exhausted mankind—of a day when the land shall sink, and the dark ocean floor shall ascend amidst universal pandemonium.
The end is near. I hear a noise at the door, as of some immense slippery body lumbering against it. It shall not find me. God, that hand! The window! The window!