Howard Lake arrived just before nightfall on a dreary Thursday evening, which was October 15, 1925. He was greeted by a solemn crowd in the stately hunting lodge. Well, more like a hunting mansion. The exception of was of course Jacqueline du Plessis, who launched herself at Howard in an outrageous display of extravagant gestures and champagne while attempting to look coy. This was her preferred style of big game hunting, and she was going to land a prize steer tonight, or so she hoped. To Howard Lake, the crowd, or to be more precise Ella B. Cocker, Bridget Duvall, the musician Henry Craig, and the banker Teddy Monroe as well as the Intrepid Investigators. They were all eager to share what had transpired over the course of these last couple of days, but they did so in hushed voices, as if the dark woods outside were eavesdropping. The guests did not seem to be able to figure out if they were going to stay and hunt whatever was causing the strange events, or if they should return to Arkham. Howard was already considering a game of spin the bottle with Jacqueline.
It was eventually decided to stay for another couple of days, but the Intrepid Investigators decided to shop for some additional supplies, such as ammunition and dynamite. They also paid a visit to Monsignor Philippe Bloch, hoping that he would be able to elaborate on some of the weird events and sightings that they all had experienced over the last couple of days. Monsignor Bloch was more than eager to talk. It seemed as if he was so glad that someone inquired about his special hobby. Folklore in rural Maine tended otherwise not to be in great demand. And yes, there were some strange tales about the hills, but such tales were exceedingly rare. The priest closed the door to the rectory and even pulled the curtains. He then produced a small key to tall bookshelf, which the Intrepid Investigators had assumed to be a closet or cupboard. He then took out a well-read copy of Nameless Cults, in this case the 1909 Golden Goblin Press Edition, but a second printing which included an addendum on North American cults. Monsignor Bloch had bookmarked several of the last pages in the book, which he gently opened. "Look, this a poor map of what seems to be Phillips. There's Sandy River, and over there you can see Daggett Rock. As you can see, the text summarizes several legends from this part of Maine, legends about strange beings in the mountains and how they are connected to moonless nights in particular. There are tales of abductions and doppelgangers, but most are simply fragments. And yet, there seems to be odd similarities to what you are telling me and some of these fragments. I wish you the best of luck, but do be careful!"
Franz, Jules and Felix did almost make it all the way up to Daggett Rock, but the nature was almost devastated around the rock itself. Therer were also remnants of a sizeable camp site, perhaps for 20 or so individuals, and there were clear signs that the site had been evacuated in some haste.It was then decided to avoid this eerie desolation, and the Intrepid Investigators headed back towards the hunting lodge. Teddy was found some time later by the three gentlemen. He seemed to be in a state of shock, and he had clearly walked aimlessly through the forest. He was not violent, but he did not react to any stimuli. Felix decided to hitch a ride on the burly Teddy Monroe, and off they went towards the house, where they were met by tragedy. Henry Craig was dead, mutilated by some kind of fierce predator. There was a sense of urgency bordering on panic in the air, and it was decided to leave as soon as possible next morning. But where was Mackie?
"You must understand." Franz Alter looked at Jules in a most serious fashion. "You must understand that Mackie might very well die if we do not bring her back to civilization, Dr. Mackenzie MacNamara had spent a good 48 hours in her room while her friends had been trying to gain some level of understanding of the strange, strange events that had befallen the Maine countryside. She was now almost entirely covered by some strange orange jelly-like substance that seemed to be held together by nerves or webs that were slightly darker in their color. Mackie's skin was clammy, and to Franz it seemed as if the archaeologist was in a state of deep shock. The strange orange matter seemed to be particularly tightly attached to the wounds Mackie had suffered while fighting the giant rat several days ago. The intrepid investigators brought up a tarpaulin to transport Mackie to a car and subsequently to Phillips and whatever medical aid could be found in that little town.
Jules Pollack drove his automobile down the narrow country road as fast as the vehicle and the road would allow him. It was a jolty and unpleasant ride through what seemed to be an increasingly eerie landscape, or it might just have been the imagination of the muted passengers. The dreadful beast that all of a sudden attacked the vehicle was however not a figment of imagination. It seemed to be some form of infernal parody of a deer and a humanoid, or perhaps some other unholy and unknown mix of wildlife. The baying from the beast was ear-shattering, while it emitted a foul, unwholesome stench that rapidly permeated Jules's automobile. Gunfire erupted as the beast attacked the passengers in the back seat, and Jules Pollack had to struggle to keep the automobile on the road in between screaming, unnatural animal sounds, and clips being emptied at the beast. The intrepid investigators eventually managed to lose the dreadful beat after what seemed an eternity, but what only may have been a minute or two. The only things left were holes from gunfire, the lingering unwholesome stench, and splotches of garish orange ichor. Mackie survived the auto ride down to Phillips, but only barely.
From the diary of Franz Alter:
Heading back from Phillips together with county sheriff Carlton Stears. Mackie will recover. We had claimed that there was a wild bear in the vicinity. Plausible. It was around noon when we returned to the enormous hunting lodge, and I was carrying a Winchester carbine. And my medical bag. Must remember to send a telegram to mother. That cat is strange.
We approached the building. The sheriff was first, followed by Lake. Sheriff Stears opened the door very, very carefully, but he was drawn into the lounge by some unwholesome abomination that simply tore him to shreds. Very fine shreds, I was told. The monstrosity was really quite strange and very unpleasant to look at. It was probably treif. I shot it in the head with two rounds. Then we set fire to the hunting lodge. We forgot to remove Mr. Theodore Munroe, called Teddy. Stupid. I wanted to go back to Arkham, but there was an investigation, which was tedious. Left for Arkham on Friday one week later. Must work on pharmacy. Soda fountain?
Saturday, October 25, 1925. Back in Arkham.
Dr, Emmett Brown looked up from his microscope. He was dressed in his ubiquitous lab coat, sturdy rubber gloves, pajama pants and a pair of very worn slippers. "Great Scott! The orange matter you have here is composed of a completely unknown matter! I have only noticed one familiar isotope: a trace of what seems to be Cobalttorium-G. But I have never heard of this exceedingly rare isotope occurring naturally. But then, the orange substance seems to be quite...err, unnatural in itself." He resumed looking into the microscope, goggles on his forehead and his hair, as usual, on end. "Fascinating, just fascinating..." Jules Pollack let himself out from Dr. Brown's laboratory. Dr. Brown was completely absorbed.
Sunday, October 26, 1925.
Dr. Henry Armitage, the head of the Miskatonic University Library as well as a Ph.D. in Early American history, received the Intrepid Investigators on a particularly dreary fall morning. He poured hot tea into small cups, and Jules Pollack could not help noticing that the cups were original Chinese, probably from the mid-Qing dynasty. Early 1800s, perhaps? Dr. Armitage took a sip from his cup before speaking: "My dear friends, I have two items to raise. First of all, let us talk about the increasingly long chain of very strange events that have befallen you all. You see, these events - I typically call them extradimensional activities - have been exceeding rare, with perhaps one or two cases per year world-wide that can be properly attributed to extradimensional activities. Most of these cases are also quite minor incidents, and they can easily be shrugged off as natural disasters or such. However, there has been a vast uptick since approximately June of 1923. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you? Please do ponder what might be behind this spate of the bizarre."
Now, I do also have a more pressing issue, an issue that is both tragic and, well, inconvenient. I know that you can act with utmost discretion, and that is what I need right now. The Arkham PD found a dead student in the Vogler Wildlife Park, early on Saturday morning. The body was found by Ms. Emma Cornelius, who was walking her dachshund early that morning in the northeast corner of the park, not far from East Saltonstall Street. The Arkham PD was immediately notified, and a Officer Walther McLean notified the Miskatonic University. The student's name was Picky Barnett, although this was only a pseudonym for her real name which happens to be Veronica Astor, as of the New York Astors. She was doing her undergraduate degree anonymously here at Miskatonic, and she was doing a double major in history and mathematics at Professor Ferdinand C. Ashley's Department of Ancient History. According to Professor Ashley, Ms. Barnett was a very good student, although rather quiet. I have also notified Major Barton the Head of Security and Inspections at the university. now, as you understand, poor "Picky Barnett's" parents will have one or two questions, and it would not benefit the Miskatonic University if the investigation would be botched in one way or the other. Would you kindly look into this matter, just to make sure that there aren't any oddities, and that miss Barnett's true identity isn't revealed? The tabloids would be all over campus if they found out that a millionaire heiress would have been found dead here in Arkham. Oh, and by the way, the contract between Miskatonic University and J. Pollack Fine Antiques was just extended through 1926.
Attched: Miskatonic Staff Roster.
Picky Barnett
Henry Armitage
No comments:
Post a Comment