Who is Mr. E. Grant?

It was a particularly fine and sunny Thursday morning, not too early, when Bessie Coleridge was asked by Carrie Brown of Jules Pollack Fine Antiques to forward a note to Cannon, Doctorow and Lockwood, Arkham's premiere private investigators. Some claimed that they were Arkham's only private investigators, but that may not be entirely true. Bessie walked up the stairs to the office of the investigators and knocked on the door, just below the frosted glass pane that displayed the names of said investigators. She was greeted by a curt "come in" and the sight of three gentlemen enjoying a slow morning with coffee, cigarettes, and the Arkham Advertiser. The note was presented:

A case! Brad Doctorow didn't really seem too eager, but Carrie Brown was, after all, the prime buyer of Bessie Coleridge's acquisitions from all over the northeast. But what about the jewelry? It did seem to be not unlike the jewelry Bessie and her friends had found in the hold of that disturbing ship in Martin's Beach just a couple of weeks ago, the jewelry that was safely locked up in Bessie's Franz Jaeger safe?

To confuse matters further, one of the true characters of Arkham entered the office of the investigators: the legendary Madame Tekla, Arkham's favorite medium, and spiritist extraordinaire. "Fraud! Harold Biggs gave me a check that bounced!" Doctorow looked at the check. It was probably the worst forgery he'd ever seen, but Madame Tekla was upset and in distress, so Frank Cannon assured her that her 15 dollars would be reimbursed, one way or the other. Meanwhile, Bill "The Hook" Lookwood looked up from the morning edition of the Advertiser. "Hey, guys, did you see about the burglary at Miskatonic University?" Frank Cannon frowned. Anything going on at M.U. was destined to be weird or outright bizarre, despite Arkham being such a sleepy town.

Madame Tekla

But what about the jewelry? It was decided to move the jewelry to the much bigger and safer Franz Jaeger in the P.I. office, and then go and have a chat with Carrie Brown at J. Pollack Fine Antiques as well as the phone exchange to see if the call from E. Grant could be traced. It was odd, though, the usually fairly vain Bessie Coleridge had actually only tried on the alien jewelry once, since it simply didn't feel right, and even looking at the ornate carvings and figures on the bracelet and the diadem filled her with a sense of unease, perhaps a bit like standing at the edge of a cliff and not knowing how long you could keep balancing. She had also been unable to trace the origin of the odd characters that were found on the inside of the pieces, and the small characters were simply just a tad disturbing. Was it the angles? The postures? She wasn't certain, and as Bessie took out the jewelry from her safe. her four compatriots had to agree that there was something unwholesome about both the diadem and the bracelet. Cannon even sensed a faint pulsating light as the investigators locked the jewelry into the sturdy Franz Jaeger at the P.I. office. It was also decided that Bill Lockwood was to remain at the office while the fellow investigators visited J. Pollack Fine Antiques and the phone exchange. The conversation with Carrie Brown was most pleasant, but rather fruitless, although the "E. Grant" had promised the enormous sum of 50,000 dollars for the jewelry. This was followed by Doctorow's charm blitz against the phone exchange, and it turned out that "E. Grant" had telephoned from Boston. 

Meanwhile, Bill Lockwood had a visitor. An odd-looking woman with a raspy voice by the name of Hortensia Robinson, who claimed to be a jeweler, had some questions regarding jewelry theft. However, Bill Lockwood did not appreciate being disturbed, and his brusque manners convinced Mrs. Robinson to leave after just a few minutes.

Hortensia Robinson

It was by now clear that the odd jewelry was of great interest to any number of strange individuals, and it was time to pay a visit to the burglary site at Miskatonic University. But who was the man in the black stovepipe hat staking out the office, or had Lockwood just been mistaken? Anyway, Bessie hab been introduced to Professor Freeborn previously, and she was disappointed to hear from the young administrator's assistant that Professor Freeborn was on sick leave, while Professor MacNamara was abroad. However, Professor Harold C. De Winter, the chair of the Department of Anthropology was on his way down the stairs. The assistant warned Doctorow that he used to be a notorious crank, but that he was all sunshine and flowers nowadays, albeit with a stroke of eccentricity. Madame Tekla was unperturbed. She displayed all of her exotisms, and De Winter went straight to Sanskrit. The confused conversation ended up in De Winter's office, but not before Lockwood spotted the man with the black stovepipe hat and long black coat across the campus. It was eerie and unnerving, and Lockwood quietly mentioned the strange man to his fellow investigators.  

Professor Harold De Winter.

Professor De Winter's office had indeed been broken in to, but nothing had been stolen, and neither had the finds from the archaeological digs outside Martin's Beach more than a year ago. The investigators had brought along the jewelry, and De Winter was most curious. But before presenting the diadem and the bracelet, Bessie secured the window, while Lockwood glanced outside the massive office door. He was greeted by a thoroughly disturbing sight: the man with the stovepipe hat, standing at the front doors of the Department of Anthropology a mere 50 feet away, just down the massive staircase that dominated the lobby of the department. Lockwood closed the to De Winter's office with a bang and pulled out his .45 Browning. All of a sudden poor Professor De Winter found himself surrounded by guns in every direction, but De Winter retained his composure. He cleared off his desk, and Cannon pulled out the jewelry. De Winter seemed stunned, and with a shaking hand he asked Madame Tekla to pull out volume III of "South Pacific: A Travelogue" by Robert Loveman, printed around 1822. And there it was: a drawing that bore more than a little resemblance to the pieces lying on De Winter's desk. "Jewelry from Ponape or Conakry found by Captain Marsh. According to legend associated with lost Mu or Lemuria". It seemed as if the sun dimmed for a second or two. De Winter leaned forward, whispering that according to vague rumors, possession of the Polynesian jewelry led to insanity, death, or worse!

Things were about to get even more complicated. The office of Cannon, Doctorow, and Lockwood had been broken into during the afternoon, and Lockwood's whisky bottle was smashed to pieces! The case was now personal! Even the sizeable Franz Jaeger safe had been broken into, but nothing was missing.

The investigators were troubled by strange dreams about watery depths and oceans that night, and it seemed as if Lockwood had walked out in his pajamas into the cold winter air. There were wet footprints leading up to Lockwood's bed, and young Joe Scacci, the bakery boy had seen Lockwood together with a man wearing a stovepipe hat. What was going on? What had happened to Bill Lockwood? "Well, he sure smells like Mr. Lockwood..." Madame Tekla's words were not reassuring.

Arkham in the winter.

Around the university.

Miskatonic University.

 

 

Cut to the Chase

Donnerstag, Dezember 2, 1926. Hans-Erich and Joachim, two small-time crooks, are sitting at their usual table at the Café Friedrich, a dingy bar not too far from the Nollendorfplatz. The foggy street outside is almost empty, and the bar is only filled to perhaps a third of capacity, with patrons eyeing each other over beers and wine glasses. The bar is ridiculously smoky, and even the sickly yellowish walls seem to be pumping tar into the fetid atmosphere.

"Did I tell you that I ran into Hubert Bosch this Monday?" Joachim lit a cigarette while looking up at Hans-Erich.

"The police investigator? That little round man?"

"Precisely. He was asking around about these cases of grave robbery that some people have been talking about. You know, where there are some whispers that somebody's awfully interested in the... naughty bits of recently dead women of fertile age."

"That's interesting. Does Bosch think he can solve the case, or does he have any other stake in the grave robberies?" Joachim finished his beer, pointed at the glass and nodded towards the waiter for another round.

"I dunno. He may actually have been gathering information for someone else, and he was possibly seen with some Englishmen or Americans after work. It's unclear. But I can tell you what seems to have happened on Tuesday evening. You may have heard the general mayhem that seems to have started just by the Invalidenfriedhof?"

"Yes, what was that all about? Had this something to do with Rudy's gang?" Hans-Erich leaned forward over the rickety table.

"Precisely! It seems as if Rudy and some of his goons were hired to take care of some of the recent 'vagrants' that ended up in the Invalidenfriedhof. The goons, not including that bastard Rudy himself, were apparently hired by a guy named Erich, with a last name starting with a 'K'. Kowalski? Anyway, they were ambushed by God knows who. There were fights and gun shots in the dark, and it all ended up with a spectacular car chase, with Rudy's goons in a truck, throwing corpses at some unknown pursuers that were firing guns at the truck. They almost crashed into a movie theater, wrecked several storefronts, and woke up half of Mitte as they drove south, bypassing the Tiergarten to the west, and then roughly towards the area of Nollendorfplatz. It all may have ended with a crash, since at least a car was found ablaze later on that night."

"What a story! No word from the Berlin police yet, I assume?" Joachim nodded as he took a large gulp from his beer.

"Nope. Well, besides the usual 'investigation pending'. I just wonder if this somehow is connected to Bosch's inquiries?"

"Cheers to that!"

"Cheers."

Hubert Bosch

Previously, on a drab Monday, Berlin, November 29, 1926, inside Mackie MacNamara's temporary office at the Neues Museum.

Mackie looked at Moira and Frau Claire Bonhofer, the housekeeper, or rather manager, of the Alexander Scharff estate which was now the property of Franz Alter. Claire's - Frau Bonhofer's - practical garments for running the mansion had been swapped for a fairly strict and conservative dress, which matched her rather high boots and the severe bun at the back of her head. 

"Moira, this Werner Haupt is a looker, but is he just a schmoozer, a lush, or the real deal? Also, what's his real interest in Egyptology? He claimed to be rekindling is old academic passion for Ancient Egypt, but now he's with Dr. Magnus Hirschfelt. Is that so, Moira?"

"Yes, he is one of the 'Advanced Students' at the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft. I am not really sure about what he studies, though. I have to admit that he is nice to look at, and apparently quite charming at that.."

"His English was really good, with just a hint of a German accent, enough to make his expressions interesting and a tad exotic. Did you notice the quality of his suiit? No Lumpenproletariat here!"

"I have also been told that he's quite active in Berlin student fraternity life, which is suppsedly rather above and beyond a nice evening dinner. He's often surrounded by a posse of younger researchers and students." 

Frau Bonhofer just muttered something under her breath. The sound of horses neighing could be heard from the street.

"Well, I have top admit that this was a nice visit, and his academic merits are impeccable. Should I just keep him at arm's length?"

"Always a good option until you change your mind, dear."

Frau Bonhofer simply frowned.

Werner Haupt.

Dr. Magnus Hirschfeldt

Early in the morning of Freitag, December 3, 1926, comfortably seated in the living room of Franz Alter's mansion in Grünewald after a gruelling night.
"I'm telling you! It was Rosa Klebb and Janis Sarts! I saw them!" Mackie managed to spill out some of the contents of her brandy snifter, Frau Bonhofer frowned.  

"Are you really sure about that?" Franz Alter stretched his unnaturally long and skinny arms wearily out over the coffe table, almost reaching a startled Jules Pollack who was busy mixing cocktails.

"There were at least some similarities" Howard Lake just wanted to cut the conversation short and retire. He was looking forward to an oral exam in German next morning.

"But you told me these guys perished in the jungles of Central America during the MacNamara Expedition?" Felix Jeremiah had seen many strange things together with his compatriots, but some of their tales were still just outlandish.

"My expedition was a great success!" Mackie raised her voice. "The Miskatonic faculty are fools!"

Felix rolled his eyes. "Oh boy, here we go again".

The Season of the Witch

Winter in New England. A perfect time to look for exciting antiques, or so Bessie Coleridge thought. People would be interested in getting some extra cash to spend in the spring, and most other antique dealers would be huddling in their stores. Bessie had reconnoitered Topsfield on the map, a location that had its brief moment of infamy some time ago, when a power plant exploded.

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 TOPSFIELD POWER PLANT EXPLOSION

Monday, April 13, 1925

The Topsfield Power Plant was destroyed in a series of powerful explosions followed by a conflagration that left the Arkham Fire Department helpless to curb the flames. The cause of the explosions remains to be determined, but it has been noted that Dr. MacNamara, Ms. Baker, Mr. Lake, Mr. Pollack and Mr. Bowers, all of Arkham, are held by the Arkham Police for questioning, although some of these individuals were severely injured in the blast. Mr. Lake has also been charged with reckless driving. Neither the owner of the power plant, Mr. Otto Argo, nor the site manager, Mr. Bogislav Klimnik, have been available to comment. 

Mayor Jonathan D. Bryce held a press conference this morning, and he stressed the serious nature of the explosion, and how Arkham has been plagued by a series of violent events over the last week or so. Mayoral candidate Dunstan Dunford accused Mayor Bryce of displaying "yet another example of his legendary ineptitude" in dealing with the current bout of violence, while Councilman Bedford Duvall pointed out that the destruction of the power plant will lead to a permanent power shortage in the Miskatonic Valley.

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Bessie Coleridge did manage to convince Frank Cannon, Bill Lockwood, and Brad Doctorow to come along with her, both for the sake of good company and to carry whatever antiquities that Bessie might lay her hands on. The fellow investigators drove off on Thursday, January 20, 1927, and they truly enjoyed the wintry wonderland, despite the snowy and trecherous New England roads. The village of Topsfield was actually located across the Miskatonic River from the ruined site that was supposed to have been finished as a modern power plant, and the village was quaint indeed. 

The village of Topsfield, incorporated 1768.

The investigators checked in at the Topsfield Boarding House, which was more akin to a particularly nice bead and breakfast. The proprietor, Mr. Evan Sullivan, was a kind old man, and there was only one other boarder, a quiet and gruff prospector who mainly kept to himself (and yes, Doctorow could not resist  breaking in to the prospector, and he a had a Geiger counter and many other strange items not seemingly related to prospecting, as well as potential connections to the government. Mystery unsolved). As the company of investigators settled in at the boarding house, Mr. Sullivan shared some horrible news regarding the disappearance of a young boy, William Lind, who possibly disppeared under the ice while exploring the abandoned saw mill by Rugby Lake, His mother, Erica Lind, was beyond herself, having lost her husband just two years ago, and Sheriff Joseph Miller in the nearby small town of Danvers had really not been of much help, stating that the ice had to melt before they could look for a body in earnest.

William Lind.

Erica Lind.

Frank Cannon and Bill Lockwood could not resist visiting Mrs. Lind, and she was indeed in great emotional distress. She kept on blaming an older woman for her son's disappearance, cursing and wailing at a "that woman", a Catherine Charlier, who lived just north of Topsfield. It also seemed as if Sheriff Miller's performance may have been lacklustre: Further examinations of the abandoned saw mill indicated that young William Lind hadn't even been close to Rugby Lake. Back at the boarding house, Mr. Sullivan told Bessie Coleridge and Brad Doctorow that Mrs Charlier was a poor old woman who had lived north of Topsfield for as long as could be remembered together with her dog, as of recently a delightful mutt called "Charlemagne", but that she was shunned, or at least distrusted, by many members of the population because she was a... Catholic! From Quebec! 

It was clearly time to visit Madame Catherine Charlier. This required a bit of a walk along a narrow path, but the weather remained gorgeous when the investigators set out next day, Friday, January 21. While walking down the path, the investigators were greeted by a very happy dog that they assumed was Charlemagne.

The investigators eventually found a small cabin, and they were greeted by and old woman, who did introduce herself as Madame Charlier. She was delightful and quite chatty, and it did indeed seem as if she had been missing company in her very humble cabin for some time. She claimed that she liked living just north of Topsville, despite some of the local population being more than a bit wary of her. Bessie Coleridge took the opportunity to ask if she might have some antiques that she might be interested in selling for a handsome sum of money? Madame Charlier assured Bessie that this might be the case, and they decided to look at some of Madame Charlier's heirlooms, while Doctorow, Cannon, Lockwood, and Charlemagne went outside to look for any tracks or traces of young William Lind.

Catherine Charlier's cabin

Madame Catherine Charlier

Dusk was rapidly approaching, and the wintry wood seemed increasingly strange and surreal  around Doctorow, Lockwood, and Cannon. Was it just the increasingly weird light, or were these apparitions from the strained minds of the investigators? After all, they had all three had experiences outside anytrhing that might be deemed normal. They did not know this at the time, but Bessie Coleridge was also seeing strange and disturbing things outside Madame Charlier's cabin while the old woman looked through her belongings in an adjacent room.

It seems as of the apparitions were just harbingers of what was to come. This may have been the opportunity Madame Charlier had waited for: a quartet of out-of-towners that no one would miss, and that could used for whatever dark purposes that Madame Charlier might pursue. As Madame Charlioer came out to Bessie Coleridge, she had turned into something much more hidious and violent that her previous kind slef. Correspondingly, the adorable Charlemagne har turned into a blood-frenzied beast fully prepared to bite and slash the investigators (who by now, by the way, were partially separated in the darkening woods) into steaming chunks of meat, all ready to be devoured by beast and man alike.

 

Madame Charlier.

Charlemagne?

Bessie Coleridge did not attempt to fight the monstrous form of Madame Charlier in the cabin. She chose the wiser alternative, to flee out of the cabin in search of her friends. She was, however, pursued by the grotesque shape of Madame Charlier, clawing into the air and rending Bessie's jacket and shirt into shreds without reaching her pale, exposed skin. Meanwhile, Doctorow, Cannon and Lockwood struggled with the enormous canine beast that seemed to use the twilight to dodge bullets, fists and curses. But the fellow investigators were resourceful, and as they joined forces, the solid gunfire from Doctorow and Lockwood may have put down the dog-creature, while Cannon grabbed Charlier, allowing Bessie Coleridge to land a solid, rock-hard punch in the face of the witch, dissolving her into what seemed like foul-smelling soot.

As the intrepid investigators stumbled back to the cabin of Madame Charlier, it seemed as if decades had passed, The cottage seemed to have fallen into decay, seemingly being abandoned for decades, Unfortunately, it seemed as if young master William Lind had fallen victim to the vicious Madame Charlier, judging from remnants in the fireplace. It was with very mixed feelings that the investigators travelled back to Arkham, even if Bessie II was loaded with some great finds that Jules Pollack Fine Antiques back in Arkham would pay well for. 

From the diaruy of Brad Doctorow, Wednesday, January 26, 1927.

It is strange and distressing that we have had so many experiences out of the normal over the course less than a year. We did do some research into the property of Madame Charlier, and it seems as if the property was orginally acquired by a Yolanda Digby back in 1801, but there was no trace of any ownership being passed to a Catherine Charlier. Yolanda Digby! I am horrified! Is this the Yolanda Digby that was the grandmother of Eunice Saunders, whose notebook we found in Arkham after that horrifying night? The strange, strange aunt of Caroline Schubert, actually Caroline DeLuca, who succumbed in the explosion in Arkham last September? 

 

   

  

 

 

The Office

It was 3 AM in the morning of Friday, December 10, 1926. Frank Cannon was sitting by his desk in the office of Cannon, Doctorow & Lockwood, Private Investigators. The desk was covered by notebooks and sheafs of paper, most filled with notes in Frank Cannon's blocky handwriting. Several other items were more carefully laid out on a side table: the scroll that Cannon had taken from "Madame LaVerne", the weird psychic that was subsequently arrested for fraudulent behavior, the notebook of Eunice Saunders, the strange jewelry that Bill Lockwood had snatched from the hold of the S/S Ladylove, and a yet unopened bottle of whisky. Frank had been feverishly at work for more than six days, ever since the police intervention following the storming of the Ladylove by the enraged longshoremen. But even before then, Frank Cannon had left Martin's Beach in the middle of the night as he was struck by a moment of terrifying insight into the depths of the many weird situations he had found himself in over the course of the past three years.

Cannon had actually been inside the office for almost a fortnight, maniacally comparing the scroll with the notebook, and he was very much in need of a bath, a good meal, and a good night's sleep. But sleep had eluded him, and Frank Cannon had only dozed fitfully in a reclining chair for what felt like mere minutes. He muttered to himself about everything seemingly being connected as he filled in the lines of one of his weird graphs yet again. Then his head slowly slumped down on the desk. Frank Cannon was finally asleep.

Madame LaVerne's scroll

The notebook of Eunice Saunders.

The strange jewelry from the S/S Ladylove.

A bottle of whisky.

Ladylove Melee!

Friday, December 3, 1926. This is when it all went down, to quote Brad Doctorow. The previous day had been akin to a fog-shrouded limbo. The previous day had also led to a new acquaintance, Elizabeth "Bessie" Coleridge, an antiques dealer from Albany who had ventured to Martin's Beach in search of cheap antiques to refurbish and sell to wealthy New Yorkers. Meanwhile, Frank Cannon remained in Arkham, and attempts to reach Frank over the telephone had only resulted in curt replies, and not Frank Cannon's usual relaxed banter. Was this a cause for concern?

Then there were still all the questions surrounding the S/S Ladylove and the striking longshoremen. Sean Murphy, the union leader in charge of the strike, could really not answer as to why the Ladylove was to unload its cargo without any help of the local longshoremen. Further investigations by Brad Doctorow seemed to indicate that there were one or two fishy things about the process underlying the decision of the Massachusetts Harbor Authority, but there was no firm evidence to be had.

Further conversations with Vernon Wells at the U.S. Post Office in Martin's Beach revealed that Vernon had been kept up by what he assumed were people grunting and carrying heavy items up to the railway station, but a chat with the station master did not reveal any freight being stored at the station. So, what was going on? It was decided to grasp the initiative and take a peek at the S/S Ladylove at dawn next morning while the longshoremen created a raucous tumult on the pier next to the ship. Brendan O'Malley would row Doctorow, Lovecraft and Coleridge up to the Ladylove, and a rope ladder would be used to scale the ship.

That frightful Friday was as foggy as it had been during the preceding days, and the pervading chill made the investigators shiver, despite several layers of warm clothing. Lockwood and Coleridge were dressed in heavy overalls, while Doctorow had donned the clothing of what he supposed was a local dock hand, making him look like a Hollywood approximation of a New England fisherman. Brendan O'Malley was waiting for the investigators outside the Wavecrest Hotel, and his rowboat was tied up at a nearby dock. O'Malley was an expert oarsman, and they glided quietly towards the Ladylove, while the loud noise of twenty or so yelling and booing longshoremen was heard all over the pier and its surroundings. There was a very soft bump when they reached the Ladylove, but that was the only sound to be heard above the shouts of the longshoremen. What the investigators did not realize was that several pairs of beady, alien, eyes were following their progress from just above the waterline. 

Bessie Coleridge

Bill Lockwood was first up the ladder, but fog and sea water had made the rope ladder treacherously slippy. He lost his footing and crashed back into the rowboat, and the sound alerted one of the weird deck hands of the Ladylove. Lockwood made over the railing and flopped onto the deck of the Ladylove, only to be met by a furious attack from a flailing, kicking and screaming sailor of obscure and possibly inbred ethnic origin. Bessie Coleridge decided to throw her blackjack at the sailor, but missed in a most spectacular way, with the blackjack hitting Lockwood instead. She instead decided to try her luck at the ladder, climbing up with much bravado to help Lockwood. Doctorow followed suite, but as he turned around and looked down into the rowboat, he saw a nerve-chilling sight: an abominable aquatic beast had reached up from the sea, grabbing the unsuspecting Brendan O'Malley by his shoulders and dragging him into the depths. O'Malley's terrified cries were drenched by churning water, water that soon turned red from O'Malley's blood and entrails. Doctorow's screams added to the general cacophony, and a wild fight erupted on deck. Bill Lockwood's boxing skills came in handy, but this was not a mere fist fight: guns were soon pulled out of their holsters, and several shots were fired in the dense fog.

Lockwood hadn't realized what kind of alien horror Doctorow had seen devouring O'Malley, but both Bessie Coleridge and Bill Lockwood were about to find out. Was this the same beast or yet another? The abomination reached out for Lockwood, towering above him. Lockwood realized in a moment of mind-blasting biological insight that this was a female member of the species, and the assumption may have been confirmed when the creature hissed "kiss me" at Lockwood, baring fangs, claws, and otherworldly appendages. The beast inflicted grievous wounds on Lockwood as the beast gnawed on him, while Coleridge and Lockwood himself emptied round after round into the remarkably resilient aquatic abomination. However, a couple of well-placed rounds almost disintegrated the upper body of the fish-creature, covering Lockwood in a mix of reeking fish-like viscera and his very own blood.

Finally, Doctorow and Coleridge managed to overpower the strange captain of the Ladylove, and then the longshoremen swarmed up onto the deck. The remaining crew members surrendered as the Kingsport police arrived at the scene. But there was yet more horror to be discovered as the intrepid investigators ventured below deck. The hold turned out to be filled with the valued possessions of passengers from doomed vessels! The crew of the Ladylove seemed to have been part of some piracy venture, luring ships onto the unforgiving New England cliffs so that they could steal their cargoes. Only God knows what happened to the innocent passengers! Lockwood kept several pieces of strange, almost non-human, jewelry of a kind not even Bessie had seen before. The rest of the foul cargo was left for the police.

A meeting between Brad Doctorow, Bessie Coleridge, Bill Lockwood, and Dr. Emile Schaffhausen on Friday, December 10, 1926.

"I am so glad you all could make it! I have had the opportunity to meet Herr Doctorow and Herr Lockwood previously, and I am so pleased that you are on the mend. Well, as you know, there was a confrontation between the longshoremen of Martin's Beach and the crew of the S/S Ladylove. At least some of the crewmen opened fire at the longshoremen, and they subsequently stormed the vessel, Some of the crewmen were killed or wounded. The police gave me the opportunity to talk to the captain, supposedly named Gilberto Aziz. We've had some really frustrating attempts at conversation, since I fear that the man is completely and utterly insane. He keeps telling me, or one of his imaginary friends, in very poor English that 'They know where I am', 'Dwell in glory', 'They will have the jewelry', and every now and then something that sounds like 'fhtagn! fhtagn! in between sentences that I believe may be in Arabic. Now, you wouldn't know anything about this peculiar behavior?

Dr. Emile Schaffhausen

Guilberto Aziz?

The Mist of Martin's Beach

 Doctorow looked at Lookwood over the narrow desk in Lockwood's hotel room at the Wavecrest Inn. It was mid-morning on Thursday, December 2, 1926. The quaint and sleepy seaside town of Martin's Beach that looked so inviting when they drove into town barely two days had become less appealing as cold and thick fog rolled in from the Atlantic last morning, a fog that seemed to blot out much of the daylight as well as muffling sound. The Wavecrest remained a cozy bastion against the December weather. 

"So, what have we got here?" Doctorow looked tense, and far removed from his typical carefree self. "Frank disappears in the middle of the night after some sort of, well, episode. He then resurfaces in Arkham, sounding oddly apologetic over the telephone." Lockwood continued: "Then we have the longshoremen strike. You know, I am all together convinced that their leader, Sean Murphy is a swell fellow, and so is Brendan O'Malley, his right-hand man. Definitely not Commies, despite what Tony DiPaola might claim." Doctorow nodded and lit a cigarette before passing his fancy cigarette case to Lockwood. Lockwood declined, at least for now. "Then there's the adorable little local secret society, 'The Most Enlightened Fellowship of the Star of the Sea.' They also seem to be ok, and the members - Joe Zumwald, Johanna Glover, Vernon Morrison, and Brendan Hill may be more than a little bookish or even weird, but basically nice and helpful. Vernon Morrison, you know the guy with the card trick, did mention that business with the strange and fatal storm here last year, though, but I guess that was just the ocean playing with his imagination"

ARKHAM ADVERTISER

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Storm Ravages Martin's Beach, Kingsport

Sunday, March 8, 1925

The spring storm of March 8 and 9 is feared to have led to the disappearance of M/S Mary P. Benjamin, a fishing vessel from Kingsport, as well as her crew of four. The captain, Jerome K. Philbin, decided to ignore warnings against leaving port during the storm, and it is assumed that the sea swallowed both the vessel and her crew. Elsewhere, several buildings in Kingsport were damaged, while Martin's Beach saw significant damage to the main pier, which also was covered by pieces of foul-smelling fish. Mr. Vernon Morrison and Ms. Johanna Glover of Martin's Beach were swept out to sea, but rescued despite the terrific storm by Mr. Jules Pollack and Ms. Moira Baker of Arkham in an astounding feat of swimming and compassion. 

Joe Zumwald, Vernon Morrison, and Brendan Hill

Johanna Glover

It was Doctorow's turn to continue while Lockwood poured two cups of Joe. Mildred Vaughn, one of the two employees at the Wavecrest Inn, had been most forthcoming, providing meals and ample amounts of coffee as well as other, less legal, beverage alternatives. It all helped keep the damp cold away. The other employee, Herbert Flocks, was perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed, but quite well-intentioned. "But that self-made lawyer character, Tony DiPaola, he seems rather unsavory. He works for the Silver Star Shipping Line, he does not have the credentials he brags about, not at all, and the Silver Star Shipping Line seems to be shipping booze out of Canada, or something equally illegal. The Silver Star Shipping Line is owned by a guy by the name of Belvedere Gilman, and then there's the strange issue with the ship, the S/S Ladylove, or as was known until recently, the S/S Balrooney of Innsmouth, Massachusetts." 

"Innsmouth?" Lockwood looked quizzical. "Never heard of it". It's an old fishing town with some small-scale manufacturing up the coast. There's a bus line to Innsmouth from Arkham. It is, to the best of my knowledge, a dull and uninteresting place". Doctorow slowly shook his head. "Don't you remember? Eunice Saunders had distant relatives in Innsmouth, and she had that strange diary that's locked in the office safe. Also, I knocked out a stinky man that was supposedly from Innsmouth".

"But why should the captain of a small coastal freighter insist on unloading the cargo without having the local longshoremen handle it? It makes no sense! Did DiPaola really bribe someone in Boston to get this permit? This must be a booze smuggling operation. That would also explain why there seems to be thugs around trying to intimidate us at night. Just wait until I can get my hands on those filthy crooks! Also, did you see the crew of the Ladylove? What a repugnant horde of mongrels!" Lockwood refilled his coffee cup. "Not feeling too sensitive today, are we?" Doctorow grinned at the fuming Lockwood.

Brendan O'Malley

S/S Ladylove

A Night at the Neues Museum

The Neues Museum.

 

Freitag, November 5, 1926

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Fire at the Neues Museum

The Berlin Fire Brigade reports that a significant fire has devastated at least two rooms of the Neues Museum, but the efforts of the firefighters as well as the raging storm hindered the conflagration to spread further into the museum. The fire was in all likelihood caused by an electrical fire in one of the elevator shafts. Professor von Kleist of the Aegyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung is reported to have attempted to fight the fire single-handedly before the arrival of the Fire Brigade, and he has taken sick after his valiant efforts, apparently suffering from exhaustion. 

"Well, that was a cute description, wouldn't you say?" Jules Pollack had translated the article for his non-German speaking fellow investigators after the traumatic evening before. It had been a touch and go, and despite meticulous, or at least somewhat thought-through, planning, the trans-dimensional entity had almost avoided the trap created by the investigators in the domed room of the museum ("not domed, doomed!" was heard from Lake). However, they were now all hoping that the weird Egyptian machine actually had worked, and that the entity had been transported back to its own plane of existence, or, even better, been eliminated all together.

"You know, dear Professor von Kleist has offered me the use of his office, and I plan on taking him up on his offer." Mackie was lighting a cigarette after breakfast, and she even manged a weary smile. "We might as well stay here for a bit and recuperate. Besides, it seems as if Jules really wants to become a good fencer, and Howard, I am certain that your German will improve. Oral presentations, was that your focus?" Lake smiled and thought of the basement of the house, while Franz Alter squirmed at Mackie's comment. Now, he had matters of his own to take care of. There was still paperwork to deal with regarding the estate, and he didn't mind being in Old Germany, especially now that the Kaiser was gone and Germany had become a modern democracy with a bright future. 

Moira had barely managed to make it to the Institut fuer Sexualwissenschaft, and she had yet to meet  Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld, since she had been dragged into the bizarre dealings of her friends. She was torn between her ambitious academic program and discovering Berlin in company of the intrepid investigators, but somehow she felt that she could both have this cake and eat it. November in Berlin may be gloomy, but Moira felt both confident and optimistic in the German metropole.

Mackie spoke again. "So, let me tell you what I think happened. It is, obviously, a dreadful mess, and I am not sure how the Solution of Liao actually fits into all of this. The entities we have struggled with have been encountered in antiquity, and perhaps later throughout history. They are referred to as 'Hounds of Tindalos' in a manuscript that may be attributed to the mathematician Pythagoras, and they supposedly delve in spaces between planes of existence, or dimensions." The fellow investigators were listening intently, and even Felix Jeremiah stopped shooting rubber bands at Mackie. 

"The period after the Great War has seen many artifacts emerge from Egypt. In late July of 1923, an expedition from the Humboldt University led by the late Dr. Opitz. presented some of its findings to Professor von Kleist. The findings included several mummies, some art, and six different manuscripts on plaques. Five of them are fantastically interesting, although conventional, while a sixth one defied translation. The young Egyptologist Phineas Finley - who we met under the dramatic circumstances of the last 48 hours - had been working on the sixth plaque, but I had to complete the translation, as fucking usual."

 

"The plaque comes from a temple of Akhenaten, and it included the manufacturing process for an apparatus that would enhance the power of prayer to Akhenaten as written down by a priest called Atmen. If manufactured and forged into coils of a specific length and then fed an electrical current, the coil will have a significant chance of opening or closing a portal to an interdimensional realm. However, unless a coil with the reverse orientation is built, the rift in the dimensions will attract a Hound of Tindalos. It is was difficult to figure out that two coils actually were needed, namely an 'activator' and an 'evictor'.  The manufacturing process was shown on the plaque."

Monday, November 29. Several weeks had passed since the, well, "incident" at the Neues Museum. The Intrepid Investigators has spent these weeks at a moderate pace. Howard Lake's German was coming along nicely with the help of Adele Christo. Besides studying German, Lake and Christo were often seen strolling together, both being quite happy and chatting about a great range of subjects besides grammar and syntax. Jules Pollack was spending quite a bit of time with fencing master Willifred Haber, and he had even lost quite a bit of weight. replacing gut with muscle. Felix Jeremiah had been exploring the city, and despite many quite strange offers to participate in various shows (why did Herr Kaunitz want me to participate in a monkey show? Was he a friend of Mackie's?), Felix settled for engaging in the odder sides of Berlin on his own terms. Franz Alter had been dealing with the estate, but he was on the home stretch, although he was interrupted every now and then by kind but nosey distant relatives who wanted to know how the Alters were doing so far away from the Old Country. Moira Baker actually got to spend a great deal of her time on studies way beyond conventional genitalia, id, ego, and super-ego,  while Mackie MacNamara had started writing a paper about the mythical pharaoh Ki-Oskh.

Moira Baker was on her way to the Neues Museum to have lunch with Mackie- when she ran into Werner Haupt, a graduate student at the  Institut fuer Sexualwissenschaft, just outside the museum. "What a surprise! I did not realize that you have an interest in Ancient Egypt, Herr Haupt." Werner Haupt looked like a child caught stealing.