Mr. Wodehouse, Meet Mr. Lovecraft

The hellish visitor from beyond time and space beamed a “yes” into her puny brain.

“You didn’t go by the nickname ‘Kooky’, did you?” The demon’s tentacles arranged themselves into a smile. ”Here you were killing everybody, and I thought, ‘How many C’thulus could there possibly be?’ We went to high school together, don’t you remember? I was plain old Kathy Stevens back then.”

On the bank, the demon’s followers grew restive. “Eat her!” Peeves cried. “Eat her! Eat her! Eat her!”

“I had such a crush on you,” the heiress said, blushing. “Still have, in fact.”

Hundreds of feet above the relentlessly nattering American, C’thulu’s heart leapt. Countless eons ago, he had gone away, fearing that such a woman would never marry somebody as penniless as he, even if he was a supremely powerful elder demon, the foulest excrescence of pure evil ever to exist on this or any other plane. But now…

“Could you ever love a —” he asked telepathically.

“Of course I could, you big lump. It’s settled. We’re getting married! You tell Yog-Sothoth, I’m calling the Times!”