Song of Azathoth - 1

Two men sat on a long porch in the early evening, sipping beers and listening to the chirp of insects in the tall grass of the back lawn. The grass was tall because the owner of the house on the slope of Palomar Mountain, astronomer Daniel Foy, seldom bothered to cut it. Every so often, the bug zapper suspended above their heads announced the death of another mosquito or hapless moth. The night sky was clear, the temperature mild. The valley floor far below sparkled with the lights of San Diego County. From somewhere in the distance came the drawn-out howl of a coyote.

"What we're looking at hasn't been seen with the naked eye for over four centuries," Foy said.

"What's that?" Alberto Vincenzo murmured. He had been half-dreaming, listening to the melody that played inside his head.