Los Angeles Times, March 12, 1924

Sheriff’s Relief Organization formed in Los Angeles

A Sheriffs’ Relief Association has been organized by Sheriff Eugene Biscailuz as the benevolent arm of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department as of March 1, 1924. Its primary purpose is to address the needs of Department members during individual times of family crisis. Its membership is to be composed of sworn and civilian and current and retired employees who maintain their active status in the Association by paying dues collected monthly via payroll deduction.

“Winter Olympics” a Great Success

The 'International Winter Sports Week' in Chamonix that was organized by the French Olympic committee has been deemed an outstanding success, and it has been decided to hold Winter Olympic Games every four years, and the inaugural completion has retroactively been named the First Winter Olympic. The events in Chamonix included bobsleigh, curling, ice hockey and various versions of Nordic skiing. Norway won the most Gold medals, with 4, for a tally of 17 overall. 

Mysterious Double Pneumonia in Latino Neighborhoods

Francesca Guiterrez, age 15, was taken ill last week and pronounced dead upon arrival at St. Mary’s Hospital on Friday, February 7. Her neighbor, Lucena Hidalgo, who was six months’ pregnant, and who had cared for Ms. Guiterrez, miscarried and passed away later that same day. These are some of the latest victims of what has been labeled ‘double pneumonia’ by medical examiners. Several blocks of downtown Los Angeles have been quarantined as of Monday, February 10.

German Reds to enter Election

Germany has declared the German Communist Party, KPD, to be legal, and it is expected to take part in the elections for the Reichstag on May 4, having abandoned the goal of immediate revolution. The KPD has a new leadership since 1923, and it is expected to campaign vigorously. The new leadership is nowadays supposed to be quite loyal to Red Moscow after previous demands from Lenin and Trotsky to change the leadership of the KPD.

Theft at Los Angeles Museum of History, Science and Art

The Los Angeles Police Department has not commented on what seems to be a burglary of the popular Los Angeles museum on the night of March 11. According to the head of the Egyptology Department, Dr. Joseph Warren, several very valuable items were stolen, including a gold-plated candlestick and written works from antiquity.

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. 

Van Buren

Gerrymor

Charles Bernard

De Vries

Joe Pagano

Sebastian Brunt

Page Parr

Rita Zann

 Keith Shelley

In Need of Experts, Part One

Beverly Hills, February 15, 1924



Dear Ms. Mackenzie

I have not had the pleasure of meeting you in person, yet, I had the pleasure of meeting your late father some years ago, and he spoke very warmly of your academic prowess. I will proceed to introduce myself: I am a film producer, and I have been working in this field for just about a decade. As you are well aware of, the current fad for all things Egyptian has been well spread, and I am planning on producing a frightful and shocking film about a dead priestess brought back to life in pursuit of long-lost love. The film will star William Gerrymor, Rita Zann, and Reginald van Buren, names who you might be acquainted with. The film will be directed by Gerhard Besser.

I have some truly excellent actors, a great director and a fantastic script to use, but I want the audience to truly experience the spirit of ancient Egypt through the silver screen. My films aspire to perfection, and that is why I am reaching out to you. I am most aware of you and some of your friends and colleagues being very knowledgeable about Egyptian history, a field that I am decidedly less qualified to engage in. My previous films, for example Vanity Fair and Three Wise Fools, have been praised by the press for their authenticity, and I am committed to following this path. I would therefore like to ask you and colleagues to advise myself and the director, Mr. Besser, so that we may complete the film in a way that will provide alluring, yet authentic.

The film is to be shot in Hollywood, which is in Los Angeles, California. I will provide you with a suitable salary as well as compensation pertaining to travel and accomodations. Please do let me know if this seems amenable to you at your earliest convenience.

Most sincerely

Samuel Goldwyn

Samuel Goldwyn. He has recently formed the production company Samuel Goldwyn Productions, and the first film released was Potash and Perlmutter, a comedy based on a Broadway play. The film premiered in September 1923. The Curse of the Mummy will premiere in the summer of 1924. It is based on the short story Cagliostro. The film will be shot both in a Hollywood studio and in the Nevada desert.

Reginald van Buren plays Felix Temple, a young Egyptologist, as well as Prince Akhenaten

Rita Zann plays Aaliyah Bey and Priestess Ankh-su-namon

William Gerrymor plays Professor James Applebee

The director, Gerhard Besser, one of the rising stars of Hollywood.

The Plot of The Curse of the Mummy:

 In 1911, an archaeological expedition led by Sir Arthur Temple (Keith Shelley) finds the mummy of an ancient Egyptian priestess named Ankh-su-namon (Zann). An inspection of the mummy by Temple's friend and advisor Dr. Schaffhausen (Reginald de Vries) reveals that the viscera were not removed, and from the signs of struggling Schaffhausen deduces that although Ankh-su-namon had been wrapped like a traditional mummy, she had been buried alive. Also buried with Ankh-su-namon is a casket with a curse on it. Despite Schaffhausen's warning, Sir Arthur's assistant Brian Nunn (Charles Bernard) opens it. He reads aloud an ancient life-giving scroll, the "Scroll of Thoth". Ankh-su-namon rises, the sight of which snaps Nunn’s mind and causes him to laugh hysterically, as the Mummy shuffles off with the scroll.

Ten years later, Ankh-su-namon is masquerading as a modern Egyptian woman named Aaliyah Bey covering herself with makeup. She calls upon Sir Arthur's son Felix (Van Buren) and Professor Applebee (Gerrymor) and shows them where to dig to find the tomb of the prince Akhenaten. After locating the tomb, the archaeologists present its treasures to the Cairo Museum and thank Aaliyah Bey for making their discovery possible. It is further revealed that Ankh-su-namon's horrific death was punishment for sacrilege: attempting to resurrect her forbidden lover, Prince Akhenaten.

Ankh-su-namon has realized that Felix Temple bears a striking resemblance to the prince. Believing him to be Akhenaten's reincarnation, she attempts to kill him, with the intention of mummifying him, resurrecting him, and finally making him her immortal love. Felix is rescued when he remembers his ancestral past life and prays to the god Ra to come to his aid. The statue of Ra raises its arm and emits a flash that sets the Scroll of Thoth on fire. This breaks the spell that had given Ankh-su-namon her immortality, causing her to crumble to dust. At the urging of Dr. Schaffhausen, Professor Applebee calls Felix back to the world of the living while the Scroll of Thoth continues to burn.

The Case of Auntie Tilda, part 3. Showtime!

It was surely an evening to remember. The sight of Jules Pollack’s infested body in the spore-laden cold air of the drawing room, and then the light bulb exploding and plunging the room into utter darkness sent the investigators scrambling in what seemed to be an organized fashion. Flashlights were secured by Mackie, Moira got her hands dirty with the slime, phlegm and mucus that was covering much of Jules, and Henry went to the rather well-equipped gardening shed to find useful tools and perhaps even protective gear. Jules was alive, but just…well, altered in some horrifying way. Nevertheless, Moira made sure that Jules was stable, and as Mackie returned with two flashlights, Moira grabbed one and headed for the basement while Mackie and Henry checked the upstairs bedrooms.

As Moira opened the door to the basement stairs, she noticed that the indescribable odor of both growth, fertility and fetid decay grew stronger, and the stairs were covered by even more of the pungent slime that had graced Jules. It was only matter of second before she slipped on the stairs, rolling down into the abyss and landing on something disturbingly soft as the basement door slammed shut. Moira dropped her flashlight in the fall, and it rolled of only to reveal a glimpse of something horrific that seemed to have been biding its time in the womb of the basement: a brownish-gray tentacle horror of unspeakable quality, something that was not of this world, yet part of some unwholesome fertility spectacle. Moira tried to get up the basement stairs, slipping, shrieking and cursing while clawing her way to the closed door.

This was, of course, noticed by Henry and Mackie, and perhaps even at some level by Jules, and Henry, now fully equipped with a shovel, a pickaxe and protective gear and looking like a sick and twisted garden gnome butcher started working on opening the door, tightly followed by Mackie, who was brandishing a sturdy cast-iron poker from the fireplace. A filthy, bruised and distraught Moira was pulled out into the hallway, and it was decided that it was time to leave the house and clean up, at least for a bit. However, as Henry gathered some of his possessions as well as a change of clothing for Moira and Jules, he gazed into a mirror and saw a reflection of that very same mass of tentacles that Moira confronted in the basement. Shrieking, Henry ran down the stairs, arm flailing and babbling uncontrollably.

By then, even Jules had been persuaded to come out into his own garden, and after being thoroughly cleaned, supplied with a change of clothes, and having taken a swig or two from his generous hip flask, his senses seemed to return. Moira was also rinsed off in the cold rain, and although she was cold, she felt much more composed. The investigators huddled on the front porch, trying to figure out what their next step would be. The party’s suspicions focused in on Mr. Simmons, the gardener, who had seemed quite unaffected by the many unfortunate events that had struck the various inhabitants of Hampton Hill House. Would Mr. Simmons return? None of the investigators were willing to go back into the house, and it was decided to keep a lookout in Jules’ automobile while the rest of the party took turns napping in the gardening shed.

At around 3 am Moira was struggling to stay awake in the front seat of the auto, but sudden movement outside Hampton Hill House made her wide awake. A furtive figure carrying some form of equipment and perhaps a sack moved up to the front door and into the house. The intrepid adventurers armed themselves as best as they could: Mackie had her poker, Henry had his pickaxe (the shovel had been lost), Moira picked up a vicious-looking tree secateurs, and Jules opted for a croquet set. Armed and somewhat dangerous, the investigators entered Hampton Hill House, with Jules and Moira going upstairs while Mackie and Henry started stacking furniture in front of the door to the basement door.

As Jules and Moira entered the master bedroom, they did indeed run into Mr. Simmons. The gardener had previously not been threatening, but now Moira noticed what seemed to be a writhing mass of mucous matter underneath his shirt. Jules was more concerned about Simmons pointing a shotgun in their direction, and he launched one of the croquet balls at Simmons. The throw was not great, but Simmons was distracted enough to fire the shotgun up into the ceiling, raining plaster on everyone while Moira lunged at Simmons with her vicious secateurs. Simmons was impaled just below the throat, and ooze and ichor spurted out of Simmons’s near-severed neck as he lay shrieking and flailing on the floor until Moira finished off his miserable existence. 

The polite and pleasant-looking unspeakable horror that was Mr. Simmons.

Meanwhile, Mackie and Henry heard faint scratching against the basement door, and Henry leaned forward, putting his ear to the door. He could not have anticipated the unearthly tendrils that writhed into his ear, piecing his ear drum and pinning him to the door, Fortunately, Mackie had her trusty pocket knife, and at the cost of one-third of Henry Chester’s ear, he was free.

By now, the entire house was buzzing, vibrating, and leaving the investigators with a feeling of distinct queasiness as well as with headaches all around. As Mackie quickly ran off to make a couple of Molotov cocktails out of Jules’s liquor cabinet, Jules ran down and fired into the basement door, only to see a distinctly unwholesome tentacle probe its way out of the hole in the door. Pulling out his favorite revolver, Jules fired off a round at the tentacle, which promptly withdrew. This was followed by doors opening and closing, glass breaking, lights fluttering, and a dreadful chill descending on the house as the windows were filled by visions of the ungodly tentacle menace that seemed to be very close to actually fully materializing. It was time to leave Hampton Hill House, and although the front door was locked, sheer desperation forced it open, and Mackie decided to give the house a farewell in shape of her two extra-stuffed Molotov cocktails. The house was consumed at an alarming rate, and the investigators had to run away from Hampton Hill as the house seemed to implode, extinguishing the fire and leaving the investigators out in what was now a slight drizzle. Only faint markings were left of Hampton Hill House as well as a strangely inscribed metal plaque where the basement used to be. It was time to return to Arkham.   

The Case of Auntie Tilda, part two.

As the intrepid investigators retired on the evening of Thursday, October 12, some of them faced a difficult night with insomnia, acute hay fever and a really bothersome rash. Meanwhile, Jules Pollack slept like a baby. Next morning, Mackie may not have slept well, but she looked absolutely stunning, and combined her superb good looks with being particularly charming and gregarious - as well as having a ravenous appetite! Moira Baker and Henry Chester were rather more miserable, with Moira having a weird rash that looked like a particularly troublesome case of shingles. Henry was reduced to a fairly passive onlooker, being a mass of mucus and phlegm.

Much to Mackie's chagrin, the food that Jules had acquired for the reception later that Friday had unexpectedly gone bad, with a layer of peach fuzz and dark spots mysteriously covering most of the foodstuffs as well as much of the cupboard. Being on the verge of gnawing off one of her very own limbs, Mackie slammed the door, and demanded to leave for the Essex Diner. However, Jules was happy to remain in Hampton Hill House to clean out the cupboard and finally get some peace and quiet.

Moira, Mackie and Chester descended upon the Essex Diner, with Mackie assaulting a stack of flapjacks with sausage links, bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash Browns. Chester just wanted chicken soup, while Moira sipped a cup of coffee. They asked Elly, the waitress, for a doctor, and were told that a retired Julius Blume, MD, lived just off Main Street on Union and Hicks. The trio proceeded to see the doctor, who turned out to be retired, stern, but helpful. Henry was not diagnosed with any illness except severe hay fever, but Moira's sores had sprouted some decidedly unhealthy looking coarse dark hairs. They were just a fraction of an inch in length, but the putrid sores and scabs accentuated by the strangely curled filaments created a slightly inhuman impression, like a half-nude belly of an emerging beast or some other form of horror. The pungent odor almost made Mackie to retch, while Henry realized what a mistake it was to steal a glance of Moira's condition. The sores were also quite painful, so Dr. Blume ordered pain killers and a mustard plaster and told Moira to come back on Tuesday, October 17.

The investigators just made it back to Hampton Hill House before the reception started at 4 PM. Jules had ordered delivery of all kinds of dishes from the Essex Diner, and an embarrasing situation had been averted. Most notables in Essex Falls came to the reception, and the investigators were particularly attentive to Pastor and Mrs. Moore of the St. Agnes Episcopalian Church, who were found in conversation with Jules and Henry, while Moira chatted to Mrs. Abernathy of the Essex Falls Historical Association. The radiant Mackie was fully occupied by sweeping Egon Wierzbowski off his feet while gorging herself at the buffet. Several snippets of information did surface: Wierzbowski claimed that he had met Aunt Matilda Berkeley in Warsaw just after the Great War after fleeing from the Red Army. Mrs. Abernathy hinted at some form of "special relationship" between Auntie Tilda and Wierzbowski, and that is why Wierzbowski ended up in Essex Falls. Pastor Moore revealed that the strange Bishop Innocentius of the Unitarian Church was actually a certain Bill O'Riley of New York. O'Riley had various esoteric interests, and establishing a small church seems to have been a great solution for his mystical needs. Mrs. Abernathy and Pastor Moore discussed the origins of Hampthon Hill House once again, telling the investigators about how the plot of land was purchased by Bartholomew Pickman of Arkham back in 1850, and how he almost single-handedly built the house, only to sell it a mere ten years later to Mrs. Abigail Cooper. Mrs. Cooper was shunned for the six decades she lived in the house, having an almost witch-like reputation, and losing several of her servants to various odd ailments. It was also mentioned that Bishop Innocentius had shown great interest in local history, including Mrs. Cooper and Hampton Hill House.

The reception ended at 6PM, and it was decided that Moira, Henry and Mackie were going to drive back to Arkham that Saturday morning, since Mrs. Abernathy had indicated that there might be more information about Essex Falls in the library of Miskatonic University. Jules was more than happy to remain at Hampton Hill House, as he was planning on excavating the basement and enjoying some well-deserved peace and quiet.

Fortunately, both Mackie and Moira were well acquainted with the library, and they had quite a few privileges to the stacks. Both Saturday and Sunday were spent at Miskatonic U., and several things were unearthed, metaphorically speaking:

- a book from the mid-eighteenth century penned by Zebulon May himself in Latin with a foreword in Old English:

After the tumult in Ipswich I decided to leave that primitive country full of fools. The New World beckons, and I have already devised the initial mathematical formulae to seek the elusive intersections that are full of promises and new, startling perceptions that go far beyond this planet. I am eager to delve further into these unknown and fantastic areas of science, and perchance eventually go beyond the Walls of Sleep, into the Loam of Creation and the Throbbing Genitalia that will make us perceive what we really are. The Hill upon the Hampton common grounds will be my first objective, and I feel that the power of fortitude is with me.
  
The latin text may take another three months to fully comprehend.

- The Wierzbowski family was iindeed petty nobility from Ruthenia, However, no Egon could be found in the records of the library.

- The Unitarian Church of Eastern Slavonic Orthodox Catholicism is mainly bogus. There are no historical records of such a strange church.

- According to the archives, "Bartholomew Pickman regained his health after moving from Essex Falls to Arkham. He passed away in 1885 after having spent 25 years as a painter and a very appreciated professional juggler".

The weekend in Arkham seemed to improve the condition of Henry and Moira as well, while Mackie retained her upbeat charm, as well as her radiant skin tone. The indomitable trio drove back to Hampton Hill House in good spirits after having checked out Zebulon May's book from the rare books section. As they entered the house, Moira noticed a distinctly disturbing musky odor as well as what seemed to be pollen floating around in the hallway. As they entered the living room, they heard a faint gurgling sound followed by belabored wheezing. It was relatively dark in the living room, and the investigators could only see the outline of Jules Pollack leaning back in the chaise lounge, not unlike they left him. Henry reached for the light switch, and the sudden orange-yellow glow revealed a gruesome sight: Jules Pollack, shirt unbuttoned, and in a most unkempt state. One of his shoes were missing, his trousers were half opened and covered with what seemed to be soil, even with a maggot crawling through Jules' belt loop. His torso was covered with a a web of mycelium-like strands, and his hands were clenched into fists. Jules opened his eyes, revealing bright red bloodshot orbs under puffy eyelids. He smiled at Moira, Mackie and Henry, and as a steady dribble of ichor left the left corner of his mouth, he whispered "are you already back?". Then the lightbulb shattered.

(Sanity check)

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