Musings on a Friday

An exhausting day, plain and simple. To start it off, the troubling visits. First with Howard Lake visiting Franz Alter, and then with his sister Violet visiting Jules Pollack. It was all very strange, and the fellow investigators had to struggle quite a bit just to figure out the correlation and causality of the opposing stories. Bottom line: the Lake family seemed to be facing one or two real problems. Also, while all of this was going on. Dr. Mackenzie MacNamara had another set of visitors, namely Special Agents Smith and Jones, the unspecified Federal Agents who had briefed the investigators about the Soviet Proletkult organization at the Explorer Club in New York. Special Agents Smith and Jones wanted to ask a couple of questions about the MacNamara expedition, and they were not taking no for an answer. Mackie was sent off in what seemed like a paddy wagon, but not before she had placed a call to Moira Baker, urging Moira to join her at the Miskatonic University library. Moira got dressed and rushed to the Arkham Police Department to find out what was afoot, but to no avail. Whatever was going on was federal operation, and the Arkham PD was limited to perimeter security.

The paddy wagon stopped at the Miskatonic University library, just outside the exhibition hall for the MacNamara Expedition. The entrance was guarded by a dozen police officers in full gas protection gear, while the Arkham PD had cordoned off the block. Several loud and agitated members of the university staff, including Dr. Armitage, had gathered outside the cordon. Moira Baker and Burlington Jones had just joined Mackie as the Federal Police entered the building after using what seemed to be a C-Beam detector to scan the building. The agents came out after less than half an hour with the specimen of eggshell from the container for the dreadful Shoggoths that the investigators had encountered in the Mexican wilderness. Following the confiscation of the small piece of eggshell, Moira, Mackie and Burlington were driven to the Arkham Sanitarium, where they were subjected to a series of particularly unpleasant invasive procedures to make sure that they were not smitten by whatever malaise the expedition might have brought back. The federal agents had apparently taken over one of the outlying buildings of the sanitarium, but was that Bogislav Klimnik in charge of the agents at the sanitarium? If it wasn't, then the Feds had a really similar looking agent. The three investigators eventually returned to Jukes Pollack Fine Antiques with the distinct feeling of being violated and in dire need of a stiff drink.

It was now conveniently just before cocktail hour on a Friday, so as the fellow investigators assembled nobody could fail notice Jules Pollack rolling out the well-curated bar cart that belonged to his antiques' dealership. The issue of Lake and his sister was discussed at some length, and it was decided to get Karen to pass an occult verdict on both Violet's house and Lake's apartment. 

The Lake residence.

Jules and Franz had visited Violet's house earlier that afternoon. Violet, her mother, and at times Howard shared a tired-looking house on East Pickman Street. The sad facade did however conceal a very inviting, if older interior, in which the intrepid companions found Violet. Violet was quite distraught due to recent events, and it was decided to let her spend the night at Jules Pollack Fine Antiques. Violet definitely needed the company, and Jules pointed out that it might be wise to keep her under supervision. Karen displayed very little interest in Violet, as she preferred her cage or Mackie's lap.

Following a delicious dinner early dinner cooked by dear Mrs. O'Flaherty as usual, the intrepid investigators decided to split up. Moira Baker was going to have a nice evening chat with Dr. Henrietta Queeg, supposedly on the topic of fashion advice. Earlier that day, Moira had received a rather fancy invitation for her "and friends" to attend the final performance of comedian Victor Ventura at the Myrtington House Vaudeville Show, one of Arkham's few contemporary venues. Arkham had a number of theaters and music venues, but cultural preferences in Arkham tended to veer in a stodgy and conservative direction, so the Myrtington Vaudeville tended to be a popular distraction for the more modern Arkhamites. Moira had noticed that her friend Henrietta had mentioner Victor Ventura on several occasions, and she had definitely praised the comedian. Moira was admittedly a bit curious, and although she would be visiting a friend, she asked Franz Alter to escort her as her chauffeur.

The remaining investigators, in this case Jules and Felix (who had decided to join his fellow investigators for dinner) decided to take a friendly peek into Lake's apartment. The events of the day were really weird, and the would-be burglars were hoping to find some clues as to the behavior of Lake and his sister. Howard Lake was supposedly attending a Friday evening dinner with Dr. Queeg after yet another therapy session, so Jules and Felix hoped to be able to enter and leave without too much fuss. 

The small 19th century building where Lake rented an apartment on the first floor was dark, and Felix entered casually. Howard Lake had invested in some high-quality locks, but the nimble fingers of Felix Jeremiah managed to unlock the door after some tinkering with his set of lock-picking tools. The apartment was clean and well-ordered. There were no strange smells or scents, and Lake seemed to have spent time in the apartment during the week. His toiletries were in place, and there was a whiff of the Lake's preferred cologne lingering in the bathroom. Howard Lake's home office contained a small and neatly ordered desk as well as his considerable private book collection. Felix did note that there was a piece of paper lying to the side of Lake's desk. It was written in Lake's flashy handwriting, and it was a list of strange titles, some of which Felix recognized from whispered conversations between Jules, Mackie and Moira in particular. Cultes des Goules, De Vermiis Mysteriis, and The Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, Charaka Samhita, El-Mansuri, Die Behandlung der Irren ohne mechanischen Zwang, Über Sprachstörungen im Traume, and Al Azif were all on the list. 

*

It had been a long Friday for Felix Jeremiah. October my ass. He had been out and about during the windy fall day, dodging rain showers and blowing leaves as he biked about Arkham. By now he had a fairly decent sense of the lay of the land, although at times, especially around dusk, it seemed as if he had missed certain alleys and courtyards in the old hoary colonial town. Biking was really not always an option, considering the old cobblestones, but then most of the town was eminently walkable, meaning within walking distance. As Felix came back to Jules Pollack Fine Antiques, he heard that a Dr. Queeg had invited Moira Baker – and friends – to go and see a vaudeville show that, amongst others, starred a certain Victor Ventura. He recognized the name, and after digging through his memory he recalled that a Vincent Ventura used to perform in various off-Broadway shows back in New York. He was a two-bit comedian, trying hard, but really not with a repertoire to make it big. It sort of made sense that this Ventura guy would end up in fucking Arkham, a last hurrah before the end of leaf season closed many of the venues for the winter. Yet, Felix was a bit curious. Had Victor Ventura just resigned, wanting to get some fine cash from a show in Massachusetts while planning a grand comeback in New York? Was Ventura gathering some new material up here in Massachusetts to woo the crowds back in Manhattan? And what was it with Dr. Henrietta Queeg and Victor? Judging from Moira’s descriptions, Dr. Queeg seemed obsessed or at least infatuated by Victor Ventura. What would a celebrity psychotherapist (or whatever she saw herself as) see with a second-rate comedian? Well, then, lust and desire are fantastic things, and Felix had seen enough strange romances to just make him shrug. 

 

Victor Ventura                                             Dr. Henrietta Queeg

Moira came back quite late from meeting with Dr. Henrietta Queeg at Psilander House, Henrietta's lavish mansion on the outskirts of Arkham. It had been a strange evening, with Henrietta shamelessly promoting the nervous sad sack that was Victor Ventura. It seemed a tad strange that Victor Ventura actually might be a comedian, but then, every now and then Moira thought she caught a vague glance of what might be a stage personality: an understated but funny remark, a hint of a wide smile, and an attempt at a lavish gesture.

Henrietta was, of course, quite full of herself, as she tended to be. Her fashion advice was extensive, detailed, and on the verge of exhausting. It was a times almost difficult to remember that the bubbling socialite was, as a matter of fact, a Harvard-educated psychiatrist from a well-respected old Arkham family with one of the first doctorates bestowed upon a female student. Moira also knew that Henrietta was quite knowledgeable in a rather wide array of fields, and she had actually not scoffed at Moira when she treated her and listened to Moira's accounts of strange tales and events, of eldritch beings outside our planes of existence, and of things best forgotten. 

Anyway, Henrietta was definitely a fun friend, but not a close friend, a slice of extravagant pie that reached back to Moira's years in high society, before her husband had ...disappeared. Before the dreams began. Moira shook her head a bit too violently. No. There should not be room for these dark trains of thought. Screw that. Moira instead decided to look forward to the vaudeville show tomorrow. She was actually looking forward to a fun evening out, not like the stuffy opening event for the MacNamara exhibit at the Miskatonic University library a couple of weeks ago. It may even be time for some dancing and general shenanigans.

Psilander House, the mansion of Dr. Henrietta Queeg.

The conversation between Jules Pollack and Violet Lake

Violet Lake comes into Jules's store, and she is looking a bit concerned. She wonders if she might be able to have a private chat with Jules. “Jules, I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I could really use some advice. Now, I know that we really do not know each other that well, but you do know my brother, and that is something I need to talk to you about. You see, me and my brother have always been very close, and we have great fun together. However, he has been acting in a somewhat strange fashion as of late. It started when he was physically well enough to spend some time in my mother’s house on East Pickman Street. It is a fairly large house, as we had some inheritance after father was murdered back in 1914. It is not fancy – mother’s a retired librarian, after all, but spacious. I was up late in the middle of the night writing a book review, and I sensed somebody staring at me. It was Howard, my dear brother, standing behind me in the kitchen and simply staring. He started giggling as I turned around, and turned around right away, rapidly marching to his bedroom, his giggling echoing in the hallway. Next evening, a similar thing happened. I had just been washing up, and when I open the door, he seemed to have been eavesdropping or looking through the keyhole at me. He once again started giggling, a rather unpleasant smile spreading from ear to ear, before retreating to the staircase, where he stopped to stare at me once again. I told him to stop, but he just tippy-toed up the stairs, once again giggling.

A couple of days passed, and mother left the house for Pennsylvania and a book buying tour. I was willing to blame this weird behavior on all the stress he’d been under. Poor Howard had clearly experienced many things that weren’t for the faint of heart. He’s also always been such a good brother, caring and compassionate. Granted, he’s a bit vain, and his lady’s stories are probably too many to mention, but he is a good brother, and I love him. Anyway, around two weeks ago, I had a difficult time falling asleep. I was tossing and turning, and since we we’re heading into fall, I couldn’t initially decide if I was warm or cold. Eventually I really felt a chill, and I went into my armoire, or rather closet, to pull out an extra blanket. To my abject horror, I saw Howard hunched into the closet, just standing there among the coats and shawls hanging in the closet. He looked at me, wide eyed, and started smiling, once again with that joyless, or even mirthful, wide smile of his, before entering my bedroom. I shrieked, and hit Howard with a pillow. “Howard, get out of here! Stop doing this, it is not funny! Leave me alone!”

He carefully backed out of my room, staring at me the entire time, and I closed and locked the door behind him. Yet, I know that he remained on the other side of the door. I thought could make out his breath, or it may just have been my imagination. I also imagined that he would be looking through the keyhole, which I stuffed with a cotton ball, or under the door, so I placed a pillow on my side of the threshold. After this I simple curled up in bed, pulled up the covers, and cried incessantly. What was going on with my dear brother?

Next morning over breakfast, I confronted him. “Howard, what is wrong with you” I asked. “Your pranks are not at the least funny, and frankly, you scare me!” Howard looked up incredulously from his morning paper. “What in the world are you talking about? I have done nothing of the kind. Have you been suffering from bad dreams?” We argued for a long time, but it was clear to me that he either had no recollections of the events I’d experienced, or that my own perception of reality was breaking up. As several more days passed, I could not get away from the feeling that I might find Howard hiding in some odd location that might provide a good vantage point to stare at me. Stare at me, and smile.

Mr. Pollack, what am I to do? Mother is still in Pennsylvania, and I do not feel that I can trust anyone. Please, Mr. Pollack help me, or at least give me some advice on what to do! I am desperate! 

Violet Lake

The conversation between Howard Lake and Franz Alter

It is Friday, October 2, and it is a windy fall day with shrouds of rain-laden clouds racing across the skies. Felix Jeremiah is already out and about, and Alter is enjoying his morning cup of tea in his nice and clean room above Lakeview Books, when there’s a knock on the door. “Franz, it is me, Howard. Do you mind if I come in?”

Howards comes in, removes his coat, and remains standing. After a while, Franz gets the cue, and he asks Howard Lake to sit down. He looks a bit concerned. Franz, I need your advice. Youo seem to be the most stable of my friends here in Arkham, so I am turning to you.”

 “Now, I know that we really do not know each other that well, but you have met my sister, Violet, and that is something I need to talk to you about. You see, me and my sister have always been very close, and we have great fun together. However, she has been acting in a somewhat strange fashion as of late. It started when I was physically well enough to spend some time in my mother’s house on East Pickman Street. It is a fairly large house, as we had some inheritance after father was murdered back in 1914. It is not fancy – mother’s a retired librarian, after all, but spacious. I was up late in the middle of the night writing in my diary, and I sensed somebody staring at me. It was Violet, my dear sister, standing behind me in the kitchen and simply staring. She started giggling as I turned around, and she turned around right away, rapidly marching to her bedroom, her giggling echoing in the hallway. Next evening, a similar thing happened. I had just been washing up, and when I opened the door, she – Violet -seemed to have been eavesdropping or looking through the keyhole at me. She once again started giggling, a rather unpleasant smile spreading from ear to ear, before retreating to the staircase, where she stopped to stare at me once again. I told her to stop, but she just tippy-toed up the stairs, once again giggling.

A couple of days passed, and mother left the house for Pennsylvania and a book buying tour. I was willing to blame this weird behavior on all the stress she’s been under, and quite a few of them as a result of events that have befallen me over the course of the last year. Poor Violet has seen her book store blown up, gunfights on the streets of Arkham, and her brother (me) being stalked by strange machine-men. She’s also always been such a good sister, caring and compassionate. Granted, she’s perhaps not the kind of reveler I am, but she has so many other less ephemeral qualities. She is a good sister, and I love her. Anyway, around two weeks ago, I had a difficult time falling asleep. I was tossing and turning, and since we we’re heading into fall, I couldn’t initially decide if I was warm or cold. Eventually I really felt a chill, and I went into my armoire, or rather closet, to pull out an extra blanket. To my abject horror, I saw Violet hunched into the closet, just standing there among the coats and jackets hanging in the closet. She looked at me, wide eyed, and started smiling, once again with that joyless, or even mirthful, wide smile of hers, before entering my bedroom. I yelled, and pushed her towards the door. “Violet, get out of here! Stop doing this, it is not funny! Leave me alone!”

She carefully backed out of my room, staring at me the entire time, and I closed and locked the door behind her. Yet, I know that she remained on the other side of the door. I thought could make out her breath, or it may just have been my imagination. I also imagined that she would be looking through the keyhole, which I stuffed with a handkerchief, or under the door, so I placed a pillow on my side of the threshold. After this I simple curled up in bed, pulled up the covers, and stared into the darkness in despair. What was going on with my dear sister?

Next morning over breakfast, I confronted her. “Violet, what is wrong with you” I asked. “Your pranks are not at the least funny, and frankly, you scare me!” Violet looked up incredulously from her morning paper. “What in the world are you talking about? I have done nothing of the kind. Have you been suffering from bad dreams again? I know you’ve been under extraordinary amounts of stress as of late.” We argued for a long time, but it was clear to me that she either had no recollections of the events I’d experienced, or that my own perception of reality was breaking up. As several more days passed, I could not get away from the feeling that I might find Violet hiding in some odd location that might provide a good vantage point to stare at me. Stare at me, and smile.

Franz, what am I to do? Mother is still in Pennsylvania, and I do not feel that I can trust anyone. Please, Franz, help me, or at least give me some advice on what to do! I am desperate!

Howard Lake