I’ve always felt sympathy for Wilbur Whateley. He was a smart guy in town full of ignorant, inbred hillbillies. Not nice ignorant, inbred hillbillies either. If being intelligent wasn’t bad enough, he was also half … something not of this earth, not of this galaxy, not of this plane of existence. Even if he’d tried to get along with his neighbors there was only so much sharing he could do with them before they discovered how much he wasn’t like them.
He was also young. He was only eighteen years old when he died. He might have been nine feet tall with a full beard but he was barely an adult. If he was sure that he had no place among humanity, it makes perfect sense that he’d want to call his “real” father to come get him – and cleanse the world of all those unwelcoming homo sapiens.
Even then he might not have felt he measured up. After all, he could still pass as a human being. His twin brother looked more like his father. When Yog-Sothoth came through the gate Wilbur couldn’t know if It would reject him for being too much of this Earth.