The Case of Auntie Tilda, part one.

The telegram from The Essex Constabulary regarding the sudden passing of Mrs. Matilda Berkeley did upset Jules Pollack quite a bit. He was fortunately gifted with good companionship in the shape of "Mackie", MacKenzie, Moira Baker and Henry Chester, and they decided to leave Arkham for Essex Falls next day, which would be October 11. It was a radiant fall morning, and New England was resplendent in rich gold, red, and orange foliage with the sun shining between the occasional tufts of cloud. The quartet was prepared for a stay of a couple of days, although Essex Falls was a mere six or seven miles northeast of Arkham.

The companions headed to the Essex Constabulary, where they met Constable Arthur P. Vaughn, who after offering his condoleances escorted Jules Pollack to the earthly remains of Matilda Berkeley. The solemn occasion did eventually find the companions quite famished, and they had a very good lunch at Rosie's Tavern, an old and rustic restaurant that was serving lunch to half a dozen patrons. The waiter did tell Mr. Pollack that Matilda Berkeley often enjoyed meals at Rosie's Tavern, and often in the company of Patricia Abernathy, the chair of the Essex Historical Society, and Egon Wierzbowski, a nobleman from Poland.

Following lunch, the investigators drove up to Hampton Hill House. The hill itself was not steep, but it did form a a natural vantage point overlooking many square miles of New England. The house itself was stunning, and although in need of a good airing out, well maintained and nearly immaculate. Large windows and several mirrors reflected the fall light and created a cozy and comfortable feeling, but that did not distract the investigators as they did a quick survey of the house before splitting forces. Mackie MacKenzie and Moira Baker decided to give Hampton Hill House a more thorough examination, while Jules Pollack and Henry Chester drove out to have a chat with the widow of Ephraim Cox, Mr. Simmons the part-time gardener, Joseph West the butler and Sylvia Rosenstein, the former maid.

Moira and Mackie were indeed thorough in going over the house. A couple of items did pique their interest, usch as the generous amounts of sleeping pills on the nightstand of Auntie Tilda, a spectacular blunderbuss in the basement, and a double-barrelled shotgun in a closet. Besides that, the house was well kept, and it seemed as if three of the upstairs bedrooms had been occupied: one by Auntie Tilda, one by Joseph West, and leaving one room for Cox. Auntie Tilda's affairs did seem to be in order, and although she had several interesting mementos and books from her extensive travels, bothing seemd to be out of the ordinary. She did seem to have spent some time and and energy researching local history, and her final journal entry was simply "remember to talk to Patricia about town ledgers".

Meanwhile, Chester and Pollack visited the rather unhinged widow of Mr. Cox, who had been provided for by Auntie Tilda. They proceeded to Sylvia Rosenstein, whom they found sitting in the porch swing enjoying the fall day. She excused herself for not getting up, but greeted Chester and Pollack warmly and shared her experiences of that strange summer of 1923. She told the gentlemen that she had been quite under the weather for most of the summer, and that may very well be why she stepped out in front of the automobile that crushed her legs. Following the conversation with Miss Rosenstein, the gentlemen went to 110 Elm Street, where Joseph West supposedly boarded. Mrs. Nye, his rather plump landlady opened the door, and she assured the gentlemen that Mr. West was unwell and could not accept visitors. However, Pollack and Chester insisted on seeing West, and after ten or so minutes a miserable wretch opened the door. West assured the gentlemen that he wasn'r contagious, but that he was suffereing from some fatigue-induced malaise. He said that he was getting better, but that the summer had been most taxing. Finally, the visit to the incredibly sympathetic Simmons in his extraordinarily bucolic house did not lead to much more than confirmation of what was already known.

As the investigator gathered over supper, they decided to send out an invitation to commemorate Matilda Berkeley on Friday, October 13, via advertising in The Essex Examiner, which was the local newspaper. Henry Chester proceeded to inspect the basement a bit further, but besides admiring the solid workmanship of Batholomew Pickman, who built the house back in 1850, nothing was found, except for a dozen or so letters from Joseph West's relatives in Inssmouth, who beckoned him to come home.

The intrepid investigators slept soundly that night, and although there were some concerns about finding the spectre of Mrs. Abigail Cooper, who had owned the house for some sixty years, night offered nothing but rest, peace and quiet.

St. Agnes

Next morning  was dreary and cold with gusts of widna and intermittent rainfall. The companions had breakfast at The Essex Diner, enjoying flapjacks, sausage links, hash browns and bacon before visting the St. Agnes Epsicopalian Church, although Jules Pollack departed to deal with the substantial logistics for the upcoming event. The investigators were hoping to meet with pastor Moore, but he was travelling. They did, however, visit the very spartan grave of Mrs. Abigail Cooper. Following the col walk across the cemetary, they investigators Went to visit Mrs. Patricia Abernathy, who actually  turned out to run a legal practice on Main Street. Mrs. Abernathy was a vivacious woman in her early forties, and she could guess who the investigators were, although she confused Mr. Spencer for Mr. Pollack. She gladly shared some of the many conversations she'd had with Matilda Berkeley about the history of Essex Falls, and Hampton Hill in particular. It turned out that she had found an odd note inserted into the town ledgers from the year of 1760. The note hinted at a gruesome lynching of a person named Zebulon May, apparently after some dreadful deeds done on or near Hampton Hill.

Patricia Abernathy

As the companions assembled for supper on Thursday, October 12, there were many more questions than answers. What was this note found inserted into the town ledger?  Who was Mrs. Abigail Cooper? Why was her daughter Agatha estranged? Why did Bartholomew Pickman sell the house a mere ten years after finishing such a fantastic house? What was with Bishop Innocentius of the Unitarian Church?

 

The Letters from Essex Falls

Jules Pollack has an old aunt, Matilda Berkeley. She has always been a free-willed lady, and she has been in on- and off touch with Jules since Jules was a teenager. Matilda has been married three times without having children, she has travelled to and fro in Asia, Africa and Europe, and she has been particularly interested in other cultures as a form of amateur anthropologist. Auntie Tilda used to send Jules all kinds of knick-knacks and odd items, and this contributed greatly to Jules’ early interest in antiques. Auntie Tilda has dropped by J. Pollack Fine Antiques on one or two occasions, and she has met Mackie, Henry and Moira over tea at least once. She is indeed spirited, and despite her advanced age, she is witty, curious and engaged.

During Auntie Tilda’s most recent visit to Arkham, she told Jules that she is actually looking for a new place to live, since she has spent far too many years alternating between travel, New York and Boston. She said she was looking for something relatively spacious, so that she could entertain, but also in a “delightful rural environment”. Jules did spend a couple of weekends showing Auntie Tilda various quaint New England towns, and Auntie Tilda sent letters to Jules Pollack regarding her activities, as follows:

Auntie Tilda

Brooklyn, May 25, 1923

Dear Julie,

 As you know, I have been looking for a house for quite some time, and I may have found not only a house, but The House! I spent last weekend perambulating through Essex Falls, the town you showed me just a couple of months ago. Essex Falls may be one of the most adorable hamlets I have ever seen, and it has everything I need: two general stores (Grover’s and The Bob Tillinghast General Store), a small tavern called Rosie’s, the Essex Diner, and half a dozen various small stores and businesses. Perkins Hill, just west of Essex Falls, has some delightful pathways for hiking, and the Essex Brooke supposedly has great trout fishing, although as you know I prefer shopping for fish and such.

The house, which is aptly called Hampton Hill House, has a fully finished exterior gaily painted white, although there is some work that needs to be done inside. The rooms are spacious, well-lit, and several rooms are wired for electricity. The kitchen is old, but I will of course modernize it. I also need to hire a maid or a butler to take care of everyday matters.

I also did have a great conversation with Pastor Moore of the St. Agnes Episcopalian Church, and they have all kinds of activities that seem rewarding in every way. He told me a bit about the previous owner, a Mrs. Cooper, who apparently saw several very tragic events during her long, long life. Such sad stories! The Pastor also told me about the Unitarian Church of Eastern Slavonic Orthodox Catholicism, which apparently is a small congregation in the northern side of town, and a rather quirky one to boot.  The theological concepts behind this church were more than a little obscure, but rather interesting. I will have to visit them some day.

Toodles!

-        Tilda  

Hampton Hill House

Boston, June 1, 1923

 Dear Julie,

 I have, as you see, relocated to Boston to take care of the final arrangements before I move into Hampton Hill House, but I did get to spend my first night in the house just yesterday after enjoying dinner with Pastor Moore and his family. His wife Martha is a fantastic cook, and the Pastor played the piano for us after dinner. Pastor Moore also told me a bit more about Mrs. Abigail Cooper, the previous owner of the house. Her husband apparently bought the house from the previous owner, a Bartholomew Pickman, back in 1860, just before the outbreak of the Civil War (!). Mr. Pickman had built the house almost entirely by himself, but he did get affliction, and had to move out and sell the house ten years after completing Hampton Hill House.

 Now, Mrs. Abigail Cooper, neé Young, was an interesting, albeit tragic, character. She was widowed early, and apparently estranged by her only child, Agatha Cooper. Mrs. Cooper did inherit a relatively significant amount of monies from her late husband Andrew, and she invested a significant portion of her inheritance into the Routledge & Sons shipping company located in Boston. The investments paid off, but her lifestyle became increasingly isolated over the course of the next several decades. She very rarely entertained after she turned 50 in 1880, and the Pastor told me that several of her staff passed away in a most untimely fashion. A maid drowned in the Essex Brook, two butlers died from a disease that seems to have been typhoid fever, and the gardener died in what was reported as a bizarre gardening accident. Little Essex Falls eventually started cultivating all kinds of rumors and stories about poor Mrs. Cooper, and she even looked the part of a cursed or even bewitched old lady: thin to the point of consumption, very conservatively dressed in garments of mourning, but apparently possessing steely eyes that could penetrate a man’s soul as well as a matching iron will. She also did not appreciate children, and this led to a plethora of Hansl and Gretl-style rumors regarding the activities of Mrs. Cooper. However, to me this seems more of a case of a lifetime of disappointment. I do hope that Mrs. Cooper did have some sort of source for happiness, be it a plentitude of lovers, great love for art, or a mix of both.

 Toodles!

-        Tilda  

Mrs. Agatha Cooper

Essex Falls, June 15, 1923

Dear Julie,

I am finally moving in! The moving company dispatched my belongings last week, and I have had a furnishing company from Boston come in and remodel Hampton Hill into a rather stately abode. Oh, the soirées I will hold, the dinners I will host, and the garden parties I look forward to sending invitations to! This will be grand, and I am looking forward to inviting you and your friends, Ms. MacKenzie, Ms. Baker and Mr. Chester over as soon as possible.

Toodles!

-        Tilda  

Essex Falls, June 30, 1923

Dear Julie,

I am sending you a short letter just to tell you that I am doing quite well and very much enjoying my new residence in Hampton Hill House. I did find a maid, a butler and part-time gardener, so the house is up and running after some initial reconstructions and renovation.

I took the liberty of asking Pastor Moore to help me with invitations to include interesting and amusing guests for a gathering in my garden to make suitable introductions. I also walked over to the Unitarian Church of Eastern Slavonic Orthodox Catholicism to give them an invitation, but although the rather rude caretaker did accept the invitation, I did not get an RSVP. However, Mayor Paul Tibbets did attend the party, as well as notables from Arkham to Newburyport who were in attendance. A splendid time was had indeed!

Toodles!

-        Tilda  

Essex Falls, July 14, 1923

Dear Julie,

Happy Bastille Day! Well, I can’t say that I am celebrating the national day of the French myself, but I displayed my copy of Les Miserables next to the Croix de Guerre that your uncle George was awarded during the Great War. The summer in Essex Falls is quite relaxing, and I have been enjoying long walks as well as a seaside visit to the posh Wavecrest Inn, which is located in Martin’s Beach. If you have the opportunity, do give Martin’s Beach a visit. It is positively choked during the summer, and there are so many amusements and diversions to engage in.

 I have spent quite a bit of time at Rosie’s, since my butler took sick, and left me without properly cooked meals. Poor Ephraim Cox, he is really not doing that well, and I have visited his family with care packages and such. Mrs. Cox claimed that he was far too ill to see me, but I left the packages with her together with a small bouquet of flowers.

 Rosie’s, on the other hand, has provided a most amusing distraction, I have been socializing with a Mr. Egon Wierzbowski, who claims he is from Polish nobility (I do not believe him for a second), and Ms. Patricia Abernathy, who’s the chair of the Essex Falls Historical Society. Great times have been had, and I am signing off with a

Toodles!

-        Tilda  

Essex Falls, August 1, 1923

Dear Julie,

Essex Falls is resplendent in the full vestige of summer. My garden is growing most forcefully, and I very much enjoy walking around the garden in the early morning when the scents are really powerful and at time to the point of being overwhelming. But despite the grandeur of the season, I have had to deal with a most unfortunate situation. My maid, Sylvia Rosenstein, was hit by an automobile just this morning, and I am very concerned about her health. It seems as she has suffered both legs broken in various locations, and I worry for her a lot. I am, of course, taking care of her needs, but I these circumstances are more than a bit distressing. You know that I can take good care of myself, but I am so much more worried about both Miss Rosenstein as well as Mr. Cox.

 Toodles!

 -        Tilda  

Essex Falls, August 13, 1923

Dear Jules,

I just picked some seemingly ripe plums off my tree, and although two were amazingly juicy and luscious, the third one was a revolting mess of rot and mildew. I have to assume that this, to some degree, is a metaphor for this summer at Hampton Hill House. Several great moments rudely interrupted by real disappointments. Mr. Cox is now hospitalized, although the current prognosis seems auspicious, and Ms. Rosenstein will have to be confined to a life on crutches. It is all very saddening. The part-time gardener that I rely on, Mr. Simmons, has been really supportive, but I cannot help thinking of Mrs. Coopers misfortunes.

That being said, Essex Falls continues to grow on me: It is the best of New England, and I feel a great sense of belonging.

 Toodles!

 -        Tilda  

Essex Falls, August 31, 1923

Dearest Julie,

Last evening I hosted a fantastic dinner with Mayor Tibbets and his family, and I was so glad to have the help of a, or rather my, new butler. He is named Joseph West, and he is a strapping 27-year old from Innsmouth. I entertained a good 20 guests, and we were all up until the wee hours of the morning, discussing both this and that, high and low. I was hoping to sleep in on a Sunday morning, but my sleep was interrupted at no less than 9 AM by the sound of glass being shattered and loud chanting as well as cries for “Mts. Cooper” to come out. I donned my morning coat and dashed out onto the portico only to see what seemed to be a Russian Orthodox priest in full vestments burning incense in front of my porch. Young Master West stepped out on the front porch with baseball bat in his right hand, and he told the priest to leave, which he did after gazing in a most hostile manner towards myself and my butler. Later that day, I did ask Mayor Tibbets about the incident, and he told me that I had just encountered “Bishop” Innocentius of the Unitarian Church of Eastern Slavonic Orthodox Catholicism. Oh well, it takes all kinds, I guess. I really have no idea why he would do this. The person must be delusional.

 Toodles!

 -        Tilda  

Essex Falls, September 6, 1923

Dear Julie,

The incident with so-called bishop weighs more heavily on me than I would have thought. I have been rather distraught over these last few days, and I have had a difficult time sleeping. There is a weird sense of compression over my chest just as I think I have fallen asleep, and I wake up startled. Once I even thought I saw the image of Mrs. Cooper standing staring at me through the bedroom window, but that was in one of these states when you are not entirely sure if you are awake or sleeping, and yet you cannot move a muscle. I may very well be stressed by some of the events of the summer, but the days still bring me such enjoyment. The apple trees in the back yard are full of apples that promise to be delicious in a week or two, and both Mr. Wierzbowski and Ms. Abernathy came over to visit for lunch today. I do hope I get a good night’s sleep this evening! 

Toodles!

-        Tilda  

Essex Falls, September 26, 1923

Dearest Jules,

It is now definitely fall on Hampton Hill. The leaves are turning, and we’ve had a few days of autumnal rains. The apples that I had such high hopes for turned out to be quite the disappointment, though, and they were almost entirely tasteless, despite their impressive size and vivid color. It still gives me significant pleasure to sit in my rocking chair on the front porch and gaze out over Hampton Hill and Essex Falls, but sleep remains hard to come by, at least at night.

Mr. West, my butler, has also been quite ill, and although I told him to take time off and perhaps go visit his family in Innsmouth, he has been most reluctant to do so. Instead the poor man hacks and coughs through the day and most of the night. Mr. West has also lost a lot of weight, and I do wish he’d take my advice. Mr. Simmons, the gardener, still helps out a bit, but he is only in twice a week to tidy my dear garden. Anyway, I am considering taking a holiday, and perhaps go back to the Wavecrest in Martin’s Beach for bit. Some Atlantic air might do me well.

Toodles!

-        Tilda  

Essex Falls, October 10, 1923

Dear Jules,

I just learned that Mr. Cox, the butler I previously hired, passed away from consumption last evening. The funeral will be held on Sunday, and I am beyond grief.

I am really considering selling the house, or at least renting it out to someone. I still have a difficult time sleeping, or rather staying asleep, and I seem to have some fixation with the notion of the late Mrs. Cooper gazing at me through the window at night. Not even the rocking chair and the front porch is giving any solace, and I feel constantly antsy, yet utterly exhausted. I’ll write more later.

 Toodles,

 -        Tilda  

Essex Constabulary

112 Main Street

Essex

October 19, 1923

 Dear Mr. Pollack,

 It is my sad duty to inform you that Mrs. Matilda Berkeley has been found dead outside her property at 32 Hill Lane in Essex Falls. Being that you are related to her, we have to ask you to come to the Essex Constabulary to identify the remains and to make any funerary arrangements.

Respectfully,

Arthur P. Vaughn

Constable

The Diary of Nathanael P. Boone

It was a dismal Wednesday, the date more specifically being April 15, 1885. We had been venturing far, far into the erg, heading west together with that wild and potentially insane Bedouin, Jefet, who had insisted that he had something really good, something unique, to show us. We had been digging up around Luxor for quite some time. Well, at least a couple of weeks, and after ditching any notion of advancing science and preserving culture, we were simply in it for the loot. Clyde Walker really knew several collectors in the States, France and Britain that were interested in anything Egyptian, or even Egyptian-looking. We had been peddling off some samples of Egyptian art over the course of the last year, and we felt pretty cocky about ourselves: just one dig or heist away from a sizeable amount of dollars and lives in luxury, or at least comfort. It was hard work, though. The wretched Egyptians are both unreliable and at times dangerous, and the desert is a harsh and unforgiving workplace. Yet, both Nate Schwartz and Gordon Grissom vacillated between stoicism and enthusiasm while Clyde Walker and myself egged us on. 

We met Jefet al-Bakr in a Cairo coffee house, and he was regarded as an Egyptian maverick and a teller of tall tales. It was perhaps the name-dropping of Clyde around his menagerie of collectors that made Jefet approach us, and although he was polite, his weird manners and strange dress made us a bit uncertain or even concerned. We could see why some of the more traditional and culturally motivated archaeologists shun Jefet. Yet, when he claimed that he had some goods to sell, we were of course genuinely interested, and we finally got rid of Jefet after agreeing to meet him next day close to the souk. We were prepared for everything from an armed robbery to a no-show, and we were marginally disappointed when we actually met Jefet and only Jefet. We all sat down over cups of sweet mint tea, and Jefet looked at us, all of us, with a smug smile on his rather plump features. He pushed his fez forward onto his forehead and leaned forward in an almost theatrical way before reaching into his robe and producing a small item, no more than an inch by two and a half, and wrapped in filthy waxed cloth and string. He beckoned us to unwrap the small package, and Nate Schwarz started fumbling with the string. A glint of gold caught our eyes as the cloth was removed, and a delicate plaque of what seemed to be a Horus with a strange long-beaked bird’s head adored by worshippers was revealed. I myself had never heard of such a thing, but by God, it was magnificent. The details were exquisite, and the bright gold inlays and brightly painted worshippers made the plaque seem like it was made yesterday. The plaque itself seemed to have been part of a presentation, perhaps on a small shrine or a piece of furniture, and it was made of what seemed to be clay with remnants of some form of resin on the back. We had difficulties hiding our excitement, but eventually Clyde sipped his tea, looked at Jefet, shrugged, and said that “it’s nice, real nice, but I’ve seen better”. Clyde knew what he was doing, and the haggling was most intense. You could even notice Jefet’s frustration with Clyde, but at the end a price was agreed upon, and Jefet assured us that there was more to be had, if we had the means.    

We all went back to the house that Nate Schwartz had rented for the season. It was nothing spectacular, but it had a small atrium garden where we typically would sit around between digs, drinking coffee in the morning, tea during the afternoon, and some more powerful beverages after the sun set. Clyde Walker was still holding the plaque, tracing his fingers over the hieroglyphs. Gordon lit his trademark pipe, while Nate peeled a tangerine. I was eagerly waiting for Ali, our man-servant, to carry out refreshments. Clyde eventually looked up, and being the man with contacts, immediately stated that “We should go for it. One more dig, and then back to the US, real food and decent weather”. There were objections, as Nate pointed out that we didn’t know how much this would cost us, and how could we really know that this would be the Big One, the Final Dig? However, in this case Gordon Grissom didn’t side with Nate, as he otherwise tended to do. He re-lit his pipe and simply told Nate that he was wrong: “We need to do this now, while we have the edge. I am not interested in becoming one of those people during the gold rush who would ruin their lives looking for that final vein of gold”. I nodded emphatically, as did Clyde, his waxed moustache bobbing with his head. Nate didn’t even offer a counter-argument, but simply pulled out his notebook and said: “well then, what do we need for this final endeavor?” Ali started pouring drinks as I went to get our collections of maps.   

THE ARKHAM ADVERTISER

Saturday, October 20, 1923

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Stunning Finds in Egypt to be Displayed in Brooklyn

In the wake of finding Tutakhamen’s tomb with its wondrous treasures, the interest in all things of Ancient Egypt remains strong. Professor Theodore Higgins of the Brooklyn museum has recently acquired several interesting and unique finds, and many will displayed for the oublic during the Spring of 1924. The artifacts include both objects and tablets, some of them dating back to more than 2,000 BC. The Brooklyn Museum houses the most prominent collection of Egyptian arifacts and scriptures in the United States. 

Professor T. Higgins.

________________________________________

Yankees Win World Series

On October 15, the New York Yankees defeated the crosstown rival New York Giants to win their first World Series title in the team's history. A five-run rally in the eighth inning gave the Yankees a 6-4 lead in the clinching game, played at the Giants' home park the Polo Grounds, former home of the Yankees from 1913 to last year. The 1923 season marked the first ever played in the newly erected Yankee Stadium.

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Socialite in a Coma

A well-known Arkham socialite rumored to be Ella B. Cocker was carried out from a separate dining room at the Metropolitan Restaurant yesterday evening, One of her confidentes claimed that she was just suffering from a mild case of food poisoning, but it was also claimed that there was a more sinister explanation afoot, namely that she had suffered a stroke caused by one of her own soirées. Ms. Cocker is the bestselling author of A Lady in Jade. which was published last year.The Arkham Advertiser will continue to investigate this particular occurance.

Ms. Ella B. Cocker in conversation with Ms. Jacqueline du Plessis outside the Pawtuxet.

A letter from Professor Harold C. De Winter

Harold C. De Winter, PhD
Department of Archaeology
Miskatonic University, Arkham, Mass.



February 24, 1925


Dear Mr. Pollack,

As you may have noticed from the letterhead, I have been given a new position at Miskatonic University following the tragic affairs surrounding Professor Wyndham during the spring of 1923. Please do understand that I was most saddened by the course of events, and that I now only feel remorse for harboring years of resentment against Professor Wyndham. Yet, I am pleased to be back at the Department of Archaeology, and I intend to honor the legacy of Professor Wyndham by working twice as hard as previously.

My most recent project came about last November, after half a week of particularly heavy rains had hit parts of New England. A friend and colleague of mine was handed a strange stone statuette of sorts (please find an attached photograph of the object!), and he was told that a local farmer had found this in a waterlogged field on his property. My colleague, who works at a local museum, did conduct a most preliminary survey of the location of the find, and he is positive that there may be an old Indian burial ground or something else, perhaps of ceremonial importance, to be found there. It is odd, though, since I am not aware of any Indian settlements at this particular location (do not worry, I will share the exact location in a not too distant future!), but then, the past is an obscure place, and we really know very little of what transpired in pre-Columbian times.

Therefore, I am reaching out to you after having heard some rumors regarding your experiences dealing with strange archaeological finds in exotic locations. I can assure you that the location is not exotic, but I feel that the knowledge and experience of yourself, Dr. McNamara, Ms. Baker, Mr. Lake and Mr. Chester would be most beneficial to surveying the location. I am considering a preliminary survey during the first or second week of March, to be followed by a proper dig at some point in late April of 1925. Besides the potential interest of the actual dig and survey, I am confident that I will be able to provide room and board, not too mention adequate mention and exposure of the name of J. Pollack Fine Antiques in Miskatonic U. events and publications.

Most sincerely yours,

De Winter

Dr. Harold Charles de Winter is newly re-appointed professor at Miskatonic University. He is known to be a notorious crank, although it is said that he has mellowed quite a bit recently. Even his foes admit that he is an outstanding scholar, especially regarding New England’s early and pre-Columbian history. He was removed from Miskatonic for several years after a commission of inquiry found him engaged in unethical practices, and it deserves to be mentioned that professor Wyndham was the deputy chair of the commission.

Jiangshi!

From the diary of Henry Chester:

(unintelligible)


Some notes from Jules Pollack:

Poor Henry! He was truly upset to hear of the death of his old friend and Mentor, Moishe Golansky. I felt more than obliged to support him by travelling to New York and attending the funeral, and fortunately so did Mackie. Moira was still recovering from our Egyptian excursion, and she was, of course, excused. We were staying at the Savoy, and despite the tragic circumstances, we were a tad curious about the Golansky inheritance.

The funeral service was held at Temple B'nei Avraham, which is located in Manhattan's Chinatown, The service coincided with the Chinese Harvest Moon Festival, Zhongqui Jié. The raucous celebrations contrasted starkly to the somber mood in the temple. The executor of the will, attorney Robert Winthorpe, who was quite hard of hearing and therefore incredibly loud, passed a small chest or coffer to Henry, and I decided to safeguard the chest in the office of the temple during the service. I could not have anticipated the subsequent course of events, but I was, as usual, very happy to be armed with my excellent and well-maintained .38 revolver, a most lethal and pleasant gun to own, fire, maintain, and keep close, because I had not anticipated to run into Herr Mayer and his menagerie.

Herr Mayer

A letter from Lao Wan:

Dear Miss MacKenzie, Mr. Chester and Mr. Pollack,

I am writing to you from a position of sincere debt, since I dare say that I would be with my ancestors if it was not for your resourcefulness, wisdom, and martial skills. I did not expect an attack by what seemed to be Jiangshi, undead creatures of Chinese legend, upon a peaceful funeral, but seeing Miss MacKenzie and Mr. Chester wrestling one to the ground and tearing off its head was truly remarkable. Miss MacKenzie is indeed a woman of many skills! Mr. Pollack disptached a female jiangshi with his handgun, and we sought our refuge to the dismal sewers under our city together with Father Ignatius P. O'Reilly and the escapist Harry Houdini. They were subsequently separated from our small group, but we did battle with many a jiangshi, and I tried to contribute to the best of my abilities. As we reached one of the many festive gatherings for Zhongqui Jié, I did witness the skillful exchange between the villainous Herr Meyer, Mr. Chester and Mr. Pollack that saved Mr. Pollack's life: a bottle of antidote was traded for an old book in the middle of the festivities, and by using most able pyrotechnics, we managed to escape from the Herr Mayer and his cronies. 

I am indeed most grateful for saving my life. I will remain a true friend, and I will provide any assistance in the days head, since I feel that we are facing turbulent times with great disharmony.

Sincerely,

Lao Wan
   

From the diary of "Mackie" MacKenzie:

With the benefit of hindsight, I cannot believe that we were so naive as to let that despicable Herr Mayer place his filthy Teutonic paws on the legendary Liver Ivonis, the Book of Eibon. I just wish we could have figured out some other way to make sure that Jules wasn't poisoned from the ungodly walking dead that stalked us down the hellish sewers of New York's Chinatown! And now the book is presumably on its way to Europe, and equally presumably to Dietrich Eckhardt and the Black Sun. I fear for the consequences of this, since the Liber Ivonis contains truly disturbing formulae and incantations to contact weird and disturbing entities from outside our cosmos, including the blasphemous gaggle of insanity Yog-Sothoth, the being that seems to be of such importance to Herr Mayer and his ilk. Considering what the Black Sun attempted to accomplish in Egypt with the Raven Horus as well as previously with the Arumbaya fetish, I fear the worst, and I have an increasingly difficult time sleeping well at night. What have we done?

 

Some images of Chinatown, New York