Cultists on the Bayou: True Detective Episode Six


Rust Cohle, in episode 6 of True Detective:

“Something’s going on, Major. Along the coast . . . women. Children disappearing. Nobody hears about it, nobody puts them together. Someone, maybe more than one, is killing people, Major. And they’ve been doing it for a long time. . . .

I can’t decide if it’s a coverup or the garden-variety incompetence here. I mean, it has to do with those boys we got in ’95, The Dora Lange killing. We didn’t get them all. Women, then children. Now they’re getting no press, the way things in the bayou get no press. And it’s happening in the same area that voudon [the proper religious term for voodoo] shit goes down. And it happening in the same area those schools were set up. . . .

We’re in a muddy swamp here, man. The alligators are swimming around us and we don’t even know they’re there. You know why? ‘Cause we don’t see ’em.”

Let’s take a look at H. P. Lovecraft’s most famous work: The Call of Cthulhu.


In a passage in the story, Inspector Lagasse finds a bizarre statuette:

The statuette, idol, fetish, or whatever it was, had been captured some months before in the wooden swamps south of New Orleans during a raid on a supposed voodoo meeting; and so singular and hideous were the rites connected with it, that the police could not but realize that they had stumbled on a dark cult totally unknown to them, and infinitely more diabolic than even the blackest of the African voodoo circles.


. . . The Louisiana swamp-priests had chanted to their kindred idols was something very like this—the word-divisions being guessed at from traditional breaks in the phrase as chanted aloud;

“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”
. . . This text, as given, ran something like this:

“In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”

Lagasse, being a proper police inspector, raids the swamp cult.

In a natural glade of the swamp stood a grassy island of perhaps an acre’s extent, clear of trees and tolerably dry. On this now leaped and twisted a more indescribable horde of human abnormality than any but a Sime or an Angarola could paint. Void of clothing, this hybrid spawn were braying, bellowing and writhing about a monstrous ringshaped bonfire; in the centre of which, revealed by occasional rifts in the curtain of flame, stood a great granite monolith some eight feet in height; on top of which, incongruous in its diminutiveness, rested the noxious carven statuette. From a wide circle of ten scaffolds set up at regular intervals with the flame-girt monolith as a centre hung, head downward, the oddly marred bodies of the helpless squatters who had disappeared. It was inside this circle that the ring of worshippers jumped and roared, the general direction of the mass motion being from left to right in endless bacchanale between the ring of bodies and the ring of fire.

It may have been only imagination and it may have been only echoes which induced one of the men, an excitable Spaniard, to fancy he heard antiphonal responses to the ritual from some far and unillumined spot deeper within the wood of ancient legendry and horror. This man, Joseph D. Galvez, I later met and questioned; and he proved distractingly imaginative. He indeed went so far as to hint of the faint beating of great wings, and of a glimpse of shining eyes and a mountainous white bulk beyond the remotest trees—but I suppose he had been hearing too much native superstition.

And then one cultists confesses the true story of what was happening in that bayou swamp:

They worshipped, so they said, the Great Old Ones who lived ages before there were any men, and who came to the young world out of the sky. These Old Ones were gone now, inside the earth and under the sea; but their dead bodies had told their secrets in dreams to the first men, who formed a cult which had never died. This was that cult, and the prisoners said it had always existed and always would exist, hidden in distant wastes and dark places all over the world until the time when the great priest Cthulhu, from his dark house in the mighty city of R’lyeh under the waters, should rise and bring the earth again beneath his sway. Some day he would call, when the stars were ready, and the secret cult would always be waiting to liberate him.

Mankind was not absolutely alone among the conscious things of earth, for shapes came out of the dark to visit the faithful few . . .

Only two of the prisoners were found sane enough to be hanged, and the rest were committed to various institutions. All denied a part in the ritual murders, and averred that the killing had been done by Black-winged Ones which had come to them from their immemorial meeting-place in the haunted wood. But of those mysterious allies no coherent account could ever be gained. What the police did extract came mainly from an immensely aged mestizo named Castro, who claimed to have sailed to strange ports and talked with undying leaders of the cult in the mountains of China.

There had been aeons when other Things ruled on the earth, and They had had great cities. Remains of Them, he said the deathless Chinamen had told him, were still to be found as Cyclopean stones on islands in the Pacific. They all died vast epochs of time before men came, but there were arts which could revive Them when the stars had come round again to the right positions in the cycle of eternity. They had, indeed, come themselves from the stars, and brought Their images with Them.

These Great Old Ones, Castro continued, were not composed altogether of flesh and blood. They had shape—for did not this star-fashioned image prove it?—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. . . .

Then, whispered Castro, those first men formed the cult around small idols which the Great Ones showed them; idols brought in dim eras from dark stars. That cult would never die till the stars came right again, and the secret priests would take great Cthulhu from His tomb to revive His subjects and resume His rule of earth. The time would be easy to know, for then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy. Then the liberated Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout and kill and revel andenjoy themselves, and all the earth would flame with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom. Meanwhile the cult, by appropriate rites, must keep alive the memory of those ancient ways and shadow forth the prophecy of their return.


So will our detective duo seek out and find a bloodthirsty cult of the Great Old Ones dancing to drumbeats around an ancient monolith in a Louisiana swamp? As much as the Lovecraft fanboy in me would be thrilled to see that, I do not see True Detective going full-blown into the Cthulhu mythos. And that’s okay. Because I’m enjoying all the metaphorical nods to the masters of late 19th and early 20th century weird fiction—from the direct King in Yellow references, to the Cthulhu-esque gas mask of Reggie Ledoux, and the stick lattices taken from the art of Lee Brown Coye. I believe it’s even more satisfying to have this deliciously creepy meta-layer grafted onto the show, as it delivers an inoculation of cosmic horror instead of a punch in the face. And while much more subtle than a tentacly CGI Cthulhu, it’s infinitely more effective.

And the promo for episode seven shows that we’re going to go very, very deep into the dark world of the bayou cult. I hope you make your sanity check.




And I have little doubt we will finally meet the real monster at the heart of this mystery—the “green-eared spaghetti monster.” I think he may look familiar to many of you.



A little closer and enhanced:



Michael Hughes
Written by Michael Hughes

Michael M. Hughes is a writer and performer. He lives in Baltimore, Maryland.

12 Comment responses

  1. Avatar
    February 24, 2014

    More good stuff to ponder.

    An aside: What about the shot of Ledoux wearing the gas mask? If I remember correctly, that shot came at the end of what looked like a car ride, Rust and Marty together, pulling up slowly and stealthily onto the property. Where they then witnessed the “monster at the end of the story”, Ledoux in the gas mask. That scene was dread-laden and heavily disturbing.
    But – none of it jibes with the scene that comes a couple of episodes later, with Marty and Rust walking onto the property, entering it on foot, and Ledoux only appearing as he walks out of the shack in a towel, no gas mask.
    So what exactly happened? Is it possible it wasn’t Ledoux in the gas mask, and that that scene didn’t happen in the sequence it appeared to (maybe only years later)?
    Has anyone else been struck by this incongruence?

  2. Avatar
    February 25, 2014

    I think the initial scene with Ledoux may have been a separate time from when Cohle and Hart raided the compound. That’s how I interpreted it. But I may be wrong about that.

  3. Avatar
    February 25, 2014

    Do you think Kelly (the little girl in the mental institution) mistook what ever is going on with the ‘spaghetti monster’s’ face (mask or deformity…I think the former) for scars? And what kind of bayou cult do you think it is and who do you think is involved? Someone (on the Internet) posed the theory that the women (like Dora Lange) might have been willing participants, and that could be true – her ex-husband refers to Dora meeting a “King.” I would say that who ever the “Yellow King” turns out to be would be charismatic enough to convince young women to sacrifice themselves for the cult – esp. when mixed with meth and LSD. Children? A different story (IMO). Anyway, I enjoy your write-ups. And I’m a fellow Marylander – I live on the Eastern Shore (which sort of reminds me of the LA bayou) – and love (and used to live) in Baltimore.

  4. Avatar
    February 25, 2014

    My guess is the spaghetti monster reference pertains to a mask, though I’m not sure if it’s the same tall man with scars. I suspect you are right about the cult having voluntary participants among the women, with a willing sacrifice (shades of The Wicker Man).

    Thanks for your nice words, and it’s always great to connect with a fellow Marylander. I love the Eastern Shore, and it definitely has that bayou vibe in some places.

  5. Avatar
    February 26, 2014

    From Slate: “Marty is not the King in Yellow, nor is he involved in the murders. Notice Tuttle’s tie? It’s quite clear to me now that Rust is providing some vigilante-style justice to the cult that is still killing women and children. He took out Tuttle (made it look like suicide) and recovered evidence from his house. He’s been methodically working to nail the cult. And in the next episode, he’s going to tell Marty about it over a beer. Or twelve. ”

    My theory is that Tuttle offed himself once he found out that Rust was ‘officially’ back in the state. Personally, I don’t think he ever left and only got a license as a way to alert those involved (Tuttle, etc. – because who else would have access to DMV records but, the higher ups) that he’s ‘officially’ back on the case (even though he’s been doing it undercover) after them. Probably wrong. The preview for this week’s show appears to show three men breaking into a house – could be another cult member’s house and might be Marty and perhaps someone who works for Hart (doesn’t he own a security firm?). Anyway, it’s about to get even more interesting this week.

  6. Avatar
    February 26, 2014

    Was it ever said that the giant man’s scars were on his face?

  7. Avatar
    February 27, 2014

    I don’t think so, Mark. Kelly (the girl Cohle went to see in the mental institution) just said ‘his face…his face’ and then started screaming – fixating on his face either did that or she was saying to Cohle (in her own way) ‘his face? No, they weren’t on his face,’ started remembering where the scars were, and then went ballistic. Some people seem to think that if the scars aren’t on his face, it might be the eunuch – but I don’t remember him being particularly large. Don’t know. Plus, the ‘giant man’ isn’t necessarily the person Cohle thinks is the man behind all this.

  8. Avatar
    March 01, 2014

    I think the scars on the face came from when they went to the church tent. Hart and the two woman were walking and the friend that saw Dori leave with a man said he had a weird face that was shiny. And Hart asked if they were scars and she said yeah or nodded in response.

  9. Avatar
    March 08, 2014

    professor pans wants to know if will they find Malkuth at the end of the yellow brick road or just another rave

  10. Avatar
    March 09, 2014

    i’m sticking with the yellow king is a “place”

  11. Avatar
    March 26, 2014

    The distraught father made reference to his wife going mad, and that she, “heard him calling to her from beneath the waves.” I can’t quite decide if this is a CoC thing, or a reference to older legends of the drowned and uneasy dead.


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