The Miskatonic
Univerity has several departments, some of the more well-known include the
Medical School, the Department of History and the Department of Physics and
Mathematics. However, Miskatonic does have a small but well-renowned Department
of Music.
”The Music
Department aims to develop an appreciation of music amongst the entire student
body at Miskatonic University, as well as to offer conservatory level training
to those pursuing careers as professional musicians. To these ends, the
department offers introductory courses in music history and music appreciation
designed for even the most novice student of musical arts, as well as advanced
coursework in musicology, composition theory, and conducting. All
students pursuing music as their main course of study are required to take a
one-hour private lesson in their main instrument each week. In addition,
students are expected to acquire, through private lessons on or off campus, a
minimum level of proficiency in a second instrument as a requirement for
graduation. Miskatonic’s music ensembles, Concert Choir and Orchestra,
are open to students in all fields of study. Auditions for the both
Concert Choir and Orchestra are held annually at the beginning of each Fall
semester.”
The Department of
Music was headed by Professor J. Pemberton Cass until early last year, when he
retired to his native Mississippi after inheriting the family ranch in Utica,
MS., from his dear mother. Pemberton was sorely missed in Arkham, since he had
been quite prominent in the social life of Arkham, where he lived for almost 15
years. With his charming drawl and general witticisms, the notorious bachelor was
the life of the party. Pemberton was also a quite accomplished scholar
specialized in American folk music, especially from the South. He also enjoyed
playing the piano and the violin at various social functions as well as clubs. Pemberton
often travelled to the American South in serach of both new and old music, as well
as instruments and Americana connected to folk music.
Despite moving back
to Mississippi, Pemberton kept in contact with many of his friends in New
England, and he remains a frequent correspondent.
J. Pemberton Cass
Cass House
Ridge Road
Utica, MS
May 10, 1923
Dear Friends,
I hope that this letter
finds you in good health and that the Arkham spring has sprung upon you. You
surely remember my niece, Constance, who often visited Arkham during breaks
from her studies at Tulane University in New Orleans? Well, she has finally
graduated from the Department of Literature, and as Magna Cum Laude! I Intend
to hold a party for her on June 20, and I would be most honored if you would be
able to join us for the week, since it is after all a bit of a trip to take.
However, rest assured (pun intended) that there are many comfortable rooms in
Cass House, and it will be an excellent opportunity to catch up, enjoy southern
hospitality as well as some really good music.
With sincere hopes of seeing
you soon,
Pemberton
Talking to Sheriff Billy
McIntyre at the Utica Morgue, just before midnight, June 20, 1923
”Gents, that is a hell of a mess you’ve gotten yourself into. I myself
didn’t realize that the Thrasher killer would be coming to my town, but the
Good Ole’ Boys of the Klan seem to have picked up on something when they broke
into the house and dragged out that young guitar player and almost took him
away to be strung up. Or perhaps they were just using the slaying of Miss de
Winter to lynch some of the poor negroes on their Saturday blues night. I was
myself looking forward to the grand party at J. Pemberton Cass’s House, but it
turned into an interesting evening nonetheless, trundling through the mud,
looking at mutilation and fending off the Klan. Those Klansmen are just petty
crooks in frocks as far as I am concerned.
I did not expect that a human being could do such horrible things to a
fine young lady as Miss de Winter, and it sort of makes you think of those old
folk tales about people losing their eyes and the fiddler that was hung back in
West Virginia in the day that y’all told me about.
But I’m telling you, Mr. Cannon, being a Yankee and firing off that
machine rifle and killing off Jeb Calhoun’s favorite horse, you better
skedaddle before the sun sets tomorrow evening. Father Hill and his band of
hooded hooligans will try to get you as soon as it gets dark. Meanwhile, we
might as well settle in here iu the morgue, deputy Donahue, the three of us and
Ed the mortician over there. I brought along my trusty shotgun and a case of
shells just in case we have some unwanted company before the sun goes up in a
couple of hours. I’ll be on slab B to your left”.
From the diary of Lotus Ashford:
I am trying to gather my thoughts and impressions of what happened on
the night of June 22. I seem to recall being in a morgue together with Sheriff
McIntyre, Deputy O’Donahue, Frank Cannon and Ed the Mortician, and that the
Klan seemed to be roaming the streets of Utica. We went to the Utica Hotel, Bar
& Grill to look for suspects in the Thrasher killer case, but then, early in
the morning, the accursed preacher Father Hill forcefully demanded that we hand
over the ”guitar player” if we ran into him. It was then that we realized that
the Klan might be on to something after all, and his name was Robert Johnson.
He was the young blues musician we heard just two days before, and he would be
trying to escape being lynched by the posse of klansmen. Sure enough, we picked
him up trying to get on the train while Sheriff McIntyre distracted the
klansmen at the station.
Johnson told us a fantastic and frightful story as we trundled through
the cotton fields in the first class car. He said that he had been taught how
to play the guitar by a character named ”One-Eyed Jimbo”, who was ”supposedly
full of hoodoo” at the intersection of road 61 and 49. There were some dark and
ancient myths about One-Eyed Jimbo, that he was a beast, or even the Devil
incarnate, and that playing the chords he taught you could have dire
consequences. Nevertheless, we got off the train, rented a car, and proceeded
to the crossroads.
It was dark when we got there, and it was desolate indeed: endless
cotton fields, a thick forest on the side of the Mississippi River, and a small
shack or shed next to what looked like a long-abandoned general store. We
stepped out of the car, looked into the shed, and realized that the inside was
a hellish den of vile odors and frantically scribbled mathematical formulae or
notes. Leaving the shed, we had Johnson start playing his guitar in the
illuminated cones of the car’s headlights, his notes reaching out into the
cotton fields and matching the cacophony of the cicadas in a bizarre and
disturbing fashion.
Then Jimbo showed up, seemingly out of nowhere. He was a smallish man,
wearing worn tails and a high hat, and he seemed surrounded by a could of
insects and strange, repulsive things. My memory thankfully starts to fail me
at this point, since I do not recall how the fighting began. Did I hit One-Eyed
Jimbo with the stock of my shotgun? Did the world turn into a mad nightmare in
the cotton fields? I do not know how my senses at all could perceive the
loathsome perversion that One-Eyed Jimbo transformed into. Our shots ringing
into the dead blackness of the night! Johnson torching the shed! The shrieking,
otherworldly noises from the beast! The cotton. Oh my God, cotton everywhere!
Iä! Iä!
At daybreak I found myself in a first-class railway car. Thank God.
What Ashford and Cannon saw at the Crossroads
Cass House
Ridge Road
Utica, MS
June 23, 1923
Dear Frank,
I hope this letter finds you well and
that the trip back to Arkham didn’t lead to any additional trials and
tribulations. I am, however, writing to ask you for a favor: as you may well
recall, my niece, Constance Bryer, will be attending the Miskatonic University
Department of Archaeology. Although she’s visted Arkham on many occassions, I
would feel a bit better if you checked in with her every now and then, just to
make sure that she fares well amongst the Yankees,
Most sincerely yours,
Pemberton
