Arkham, Massachusetts: Late Evening, March 12, 1924

The following conversation took place between Jules Pollack. “Mackie” MacKenzie, Henry Chester, Moira Chandler and Howard Lake on the late evening of Wednesday, March 12, 1924:

“This is perfectly ridiculous, you know. What is this? The Underwear Thieves of the Underworld? I really anticipated a spending time somewhat differently here in Hollywood”. Jules scoffed while he grabbed another chilled bottle of champagne. Domestic, not imported. “My Hollywood memoirs will indeed be a bit disappointing”, Moira replied. She was fieldstripping her trusty Winchester rifle, not because it was necessary, but better safe than sorry. Jules nodded approvingly as Moira slid the bolt into the receiver, although he still preferred his trusty Colt .38 revolver, a most pleasant handgun to own and fire. Much better than a croquet set.

Henry Chester stretched and looked at his fellow travelers. “I would respectfully disagree. Have you even paid any attention whatsoever to the work of Page Parr? I am dumbfounded by her artwork and makeup skills! Look, even Howard seems to have picked up a thing or two. What do you say, Howard?” Howard Lake nodded. “But this otherwise seems to be a menagerie or circus! It is indeed amusing to see how the actors differ from their roles. Square-jawed action hero van Buren is the most self-obsessed individual I’ve ever met, and what a queen to boot. What a polar opposite to Charles Bernard, who seems to be the commensurate professional, albeit a rather private individual”. “Oh, and look at William Gerrymor”. This was Mackie chiming in. “A drunkard and druggie with fake Queen’s English. By the way, someone mentioned that he is in some serious financial debt”. Lips pursed, Mackie looked down over some the set designs before rolling her eyes yet again. “Sebastian Brunt is such a nincompoop. Could you ever…” Mackie was apparently less than happy with some wild interpretation of Egyptian murals. “I mean, he may be a graduate student of Egyptology, but this is just ah-pall-ing. Brunt had better be a much better assistant that a set designer, or I can see Mr. Goldwyn looking for a new assistant sooner rather than later. Jules, pour me some of those bubbles, will you?”

Moira put down her rifle after working the action with deft hands. “So what do we really have here? A mummy at large, clearly both a quick and fairly powerful man-being, having run into him myself. We have missing undergarments galore, initially from the famous femmes, most notably Rita Zann herself. You know, having spent some time with her, I must admit that she is wound tight. Moody, interested and intense are just some words that come to mind. She also mentioned her grandfather Erich was a musician, and now she insists that I am a natural violinist!” Jules looked up and laughed just a bit too loud. “You? A violinist?” For some reason, this amused Jules a lot. “Most people seem to be plain eccentric, if there is such a thing, and some, like dear Mr. de Vries, are really nice. Actually, even the director, Mr. Besser, is decent man, accent and all, but his assistant is a mean son-of-you-know-what, and he seems be a bit of a woman-hater. Did you all notice how he refuses to talk directly to Mackie and Moira? I also think that Mr. Shelley needs to be watched a bit. He really seems to be a diva, and he does not miss an opportunity to slander and ridicule. He actually seems to be particularly venomous towards van Buren, or am I wrong?”

Henry Lake said, “I do not know about Shelley, but Pagano is rough, although he seems to know his stuff. He lectured me on old books just yesterday, and as an antiquarian on a movie set, I really did not know what to say.” Lake emptied the last of the bottle of champagne, and as Jules reached over for a fresh edition of bubbles, there was violent knocking at the door: “Let me in! Let me IN!” Moira opened up the trailer door, and in a cloud of alcohol, there was William Gerrymor holding Rita Zann in his arms in a most unromantic way. Gerrymor’s shirt was bloody, and Rita Zann seemed unconscious. Gerrymor looked at Moira, eyes wide, froth in the corner of his mouth, and he half-mumbled, half-yelled “it… ATTACKED Rita…it bit and ATE Rita!

Moira just managed to catch the two actors before Gerrymor’s legs buckled.