by Rachel Gray
Clearly, Wilbur was a terrible monster, intent upon wreaking havoc upon Dunwich with arcane spells from the Necronomicon. With the fiend dead and his plans thwarted, the town must be safe.
Not quite.
THE HORROR IN DUNWICH
Around Dunwich, a great, horrific beast began terrorizing the countryside. And it seemed to have an appetite for cattle. Naturally, the townsfolk locked up the cattle. This forced the beast to upgrade its diet to people. The townsfolk realized a few gobbled-up cattle, in comparison, weren’t so bad.
Meanwhile, Dr. Armitage had been conducting some research on his own, having received a cryptic copy of Wilbur Whateley’s diary for translation. His studies, along with translation of the journal, led to disturbing findings about the Whateley family. So the professor, with two of his colleagues, traveled to Dunwich to verify his findings—and hopefully save the small town.
During his tenure as head librarian at Miskatonic University, the professor amassed a wealth of arcane knowledge and magic. And with the help of his companions, he conjured a powerful spell, dispatching the rampaging monster as the townspeople gazed on in horror and wonder.
Afterward, Armitage explained what he had learned—the beast was Wilbur’s twin brother (yes, Wilbur had the good looks in the family—who’d have guessed). The twins were both sons of the great deity Yog-Sothoth. So poor Wilbur was simply trying to make a very long distance call, and contact his long-lost father. Sure, Wilbur’s father would likely destroy the world, and then invite all of his deity brothers to come through the gate, and party. Still, it’s touching tale.
WHERE TO STAY IN DUNWICH
Nowhere. Why would you want to visit Dunwich? Move on to Kingsport or Innsmouth. You’ll love the tourist attractions in these towns.
HORROR AND WONDER IN
H.P. LOVECRAFT’S UNIVERSE
Like most writers, Lovecraft had a literary agenda. He wasn’t simply writing tales of uncanny and unimaginable horror for the pure entertainment of readers—although some level of entertainment was probably hoped for. However, one of his main objectives was to raise “horror” to the sublime, or, put another way, create “sublime horror.”
Today the concept of the sublime is mostly lost on us, but dating back to the Romantic Period of literature, many writers have attempted to produce the sensation of the sublime in a reader. Now you might be wondering: Just what is this “sublime?” Well, like so many things in Lovecraft’s writing, it can’t be described—at least accurately. The sublime is more of an experience, a moment when a person sees or understands something so far beyond the human condition that it fills him or her with wonder and amazement—pure awe. And in Lovecraft’s case, it brought pure horror with it as well.
So in the end, H.P. Lovecraft wasn’t trying to skip the descriptions of the monstrous creatures and events in his writing; rather, he was working to get the reader to experience a sublime horror by letting the reader’s imagination fill in the blanks. After all, we always imagine something far worse than what is before us. And like the Romantic writers, Lovecraft let the power of the human imagination do its work whenever he could.
WHAT TO DO IF YOU
MEET A WHATELEY
Is he attractive? Or is he the ugly one? (This is a loaded question because you can’t trust either; in the end, there is no hope for a solid, long term relationship, so the best thing to do is run).
If a Whateley asks you for a copy of the Necronomicon, tell them you’ve never heard of the book. (Obviously you have heard of it by now, but lie. No matter how much they flatter you or even bribe you, a Whateley with this book pretty much means the end of everything—in which case, not even running will help.)
Don’t go to dinner with a Whateley. (There’s no telling what you’ll be eating, or if you are on the menu.)
Avoid Old Man Whateley at all costs. That goes for his daughter, Lavinia, too.
To some, Lavinia Whateley has her charms, but overall one should avoid dating her. Like most Whateleys, she has a plan. (And she spends far too much time talking about her children).
Hide your cattle.
Introduce your unwitting best friend to the Whateleys, and then while he or she is busy, skip town. (Make sure to find a new friend after this. As you know, they are indispensable in the Cthulhu Mythos.)
Try poking the Whateley with a stick. (This accomplishes nothing, except maybe a brief moment of confusion, but given everything you know the Whateleys are up to, it somehow seems rewarding.)
Ask, “did you say, Yog-Sothoth, or Yog-Shoggoth?” (This mix-up is more common than you probably realize, and it is quite embarrassing when pointed out. Considering that the Whateleys are not very bright, it’s bound to keep one of them confused for hours. Once the Whateley is properly befuddled, take your leave promptly.)
Whistle for a dog. (Remember, the canine network knows about the Whateleys, but the Whateleys don’t know about them.)
Kingsport
Then beyond the hill’s crest I saw Kingsport outspread frostily in the gloaming; snowy Kingsport with its ancient vanes and steeples, ridgepoles and chimney-pots, wharves and small bridges, willow-trees and graveyards; endless labyrinths of steep, narrow, crooked streets, and dizzy church-crowned central peak that time durst not touch; ceaseless mazes of colonial houses piled and scattered at all angles and levels like a child’s disordered blocks; antiquity hovering on grey wings over winter-whitened gables and gambrel roofs; fanlights and small-paned windows one by one gleaming out in the cold dusk to join Orion and the archaic stars. And against the rotting wharves the sea pounded; the secretive, immemorial sea out of which the people had come in the elder time.
—H.P. Lovecraft, “The Festival”
Southeast of Arkham, the town of Kingsport is nestled amongst craggy cliffs. Kingsport is a bustling seaport town dating back to the seventeenth century. It’s known for its friendly inhabitants, great seafood, and as might be expected, unusual happenings.
WHERE TO STAY IN KINGSPORT
Should you choose to visit Kingsport, the best rooms in town can be found at The Cottages at Water Street (ocean views cost extra).
And, should you wish to try your hand at a bit of knowledge-hunting, and don’t mind the risk of possibly getting chopped up into little pieces, your best bet for finding excitement will come from wandering down Water Street and visiting The Terrible Old Man (pretending you’re a lost traveler always works).
According to “The Terrible Old Man” penned by H. P. Lovecraft, the fellow sporting the same name as the title of the short story is steeped in trouble and mysterious events.
“The Terrible Old Man,” the person, not the story, is legendary throughout Kingsport (something in the name gives it away). According to legend, he stashed a tremendous fortune inside his house—hidden somewhere. The rumor is naturally reinforced by his spending habits, which involve his paying for everything with Spanish gold (perhaps acquired during his alleged stint, back in the day, as a captain of East Indian clipper ships). And come on, if you’re spending Spanish gold anywhere in the last one-hundred years, that’s just plain suspicious. You know he’s not getting the best value for his gold, not to mention the historical worth.
He’s also well known for keeping strange, temple-like creations in his front yard to scare away the local children (not talking garden gnomes here). And then there’s his freaky bottle collection, each bottle containing a piece of lead, somehow suspended inside. Some people claim they’ve witnessed the Terrible Old Man speaking to the bottles. And the lead trinkets inside the bottles vibrate, as if speaking back.
But The Terrible Old Man is probably best known for the robbers he allegedly murdered when they attempted to beat him out of his fortune.
WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU DECIDE TO ROB
THE TERRIBLE OLD MAN
Greed is a great motivator, and few can ignore the allure of a Spanish treasure. Should you decide to rob the Terrible Old Man of his hidden fortune, don’t try the direct approach:
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When a team of robbers—Angelo Ricci, Joe Czanek, and Manuel Silva—heard rumors of The Terrible Old Man’s money, they decided he was easy pickings. So they set up an appointment to have a “talk” with him.
The plan was as follows: Ricci and Silva would visit the house and rough him up—just a little—while Czanek waited in the car for the fast getaway. Czanek insisted Ricci and Silva go easy on the old guy, after all, he was old and feeble. No need to add a murder rap to a simple robbery. Besides, the Terrible Old Man had a tough life, being an outcast due to his eccentricities (really, who doesn’t talk to bottles with lead suspended in them . . . every once in awhile).
Not long after Ricci and Silva entered the house, horrific screaming echoed through the air, to Czanek’s dismay. Clearly the two men decided not to follow the plan. Czanek became even more dismayed when the door flew open, and instead of Ricci and Silva, the Terrible Old Man emerged, flashing a wicked smile.
Later, townsfolk discovered Ricci and Silva on the beach—most of them, anyway. Their bodies were mauled and mangled. No one knows what actually happened, but if you’re feeling brave, you could knock on The Terrible Old Man’s front door and ask about it.
In the end, Ricci, Silva, and Czanek’s plan turned out to be a bad idea. This is speculation, but speaking to The Terrible Old Man about his secret riches is probably a risky proposition. If you really need Spanish gold, perhaps finding an old Spanish galleon beneath the ocean is easier. Obviously, The Terrible Old Man has such an ominous name for a reason.
Due to his eccentricities (and probably the whole murder thing), the Terrible Old Man is mostly shunned in Kingsport. Few visitors drop by. Those who do get spooked by his long conversations with those glass bottles. But in addition to antique gold coins, the Terrible Old Man possesses a wealth of Mythos lore. Anyone brave enough to stick around for a chat (and not attempt to steal his loot) will be rewarded with invaluable nuggets of Cthulhu Mythos knowledge.
SEASON’S GREETINGS
If you’re in town around the Christmas holiday, you don’t want to check out Kingsport’s yearly Yule Festival. According to Lovecraft’s story, “The Festival,” many of the townspeople don cloaks around eleven in the evening, spilling into the streets. The crowd heads up to the white church in the center of town, where they proceed inside and play lovely flute music. Sounds nice enough . . ..
Then again, maybe not. At least if we are to believe the patient who awakened in Kingsport hospital, screaming about the Yule Festival rituals.
FLUTES AND THE CTHULHU MYTHOS
In general, the whistling of flutes in relation to anything in the Cthulhu Mythos is bad. If you’re in a forest, or a town, or lost in an ancient, underground cavern, the sound of flutes is the last thing you want to hear. While it is possible the sound is coming from an unwary, practicing flutist, most likely it is the call of a very vicious Mythos creature—or the warning of the sudden appearance of one. In any case, if you’re in a location where things just don’t seem right, and there’s an uncanny, unexplainable feeling that has overcome you, and it is punctuated by the sound of flutes, run . . ..
Apparently, the pleasant-sounding flutes are actually used to summon loping, winged creatures that bear the riders further into deep caverns—leading them across a wide river, flowing underneath the church. Dark rituals are surely practiced there, but no one knows for certain—the patient didn’t hang around long enough to find out.
He had been guided to the festival by an older, creepy-looking relative, whose bland, lifeless face resembled a waxen mask (certainly it wasn’t a cheap disguise). The elderly man tried everything in hopes of convincing the younger fellow to stay for the popular, annual ritual. Using a tablet and stylus (he wasn’t much of a talker), the old fellow scrawled convincing arguments about the younger man’s obligation to his family. Who knows, the old man might have made his point eventually. If he hadn’t gotten jostled, causing his waxen mask to fall off his face, revealing the total absence of a human face, or any face for that matter.
The younger man promptly jumped into the river. Later, he awakened in the Kingsport hospital. After being transferred to St. Mary’s Hospital in Arkham, the attendants decided that reading a nice book would settle his addled nerves. So they loaned him a copy of the Necronomicon. (Alas, if only poor Wibur Whateley had simply gone to the hospital in Arkham for reading material, he’d be alive and destroying the world this very moment). In case you’re wondering how the young man is doing, just flip back to the section on the Necronomicon. Nothing good ever comes from reading that book.
THE STRANGE HIGH HOUSE IN THE MIST
In his writings about Kingsport, Lovecraft describes one of the town’s most recognized sites in his story, “The Strange High House in the Mist.” Oddly, this site is named: The Strange High House in the Mist. The legendary house is situated at the top of high cliffs to the north of Kingsport. It is rumored to contain a solitary resident. But the occupant is never seen about town . . . even for a quick trip to the grocery.
As the cliffs are nearly inaccessible, no one is quite sure how the house’s inhabitant travels about. When the philosopher Thomas Olney moved to town, this puzzle taunted him, and he yearned to know more about the Strange High House in the Mist. Being a philosopher, Olney didn’t see much adventure. As a result, he craved thrills and mystery—probably why he moved to Kingsport to begin with. So, with an itch that could only be scratched by exploring the cliffs, he set out for the house in the mist.
Olney used a circuitous, backward route that nearly led him to Arkham and back—he was a philosopher, not an adventurer. Eventually he managed to find a path into the cliffs. Unfortunately, the house was clearly designed by a dropout from Miskatonic University’s short-lived and highly unsuccessful architecture program. The cottage’s only door faced the sheer wall of the cliff. So it was a stroke of luck when an elderly, bearded fellow popped over to the window, pulling Olney inside.
Yes, everything in Kingsport has to do with a strange old man, in some way or another. There are a lot of strange, old men lurking about the city. Maybe it’s something in the water.
Despite his hermit-like behavior, the house’s sole inhabitant was actually quite friendly. Olney and his host were soon deep in conversation—speaking of Kingsport’s ancient legends, discussing the city’s long history, chatting about the warm weather streak Kingsport was having. Then, unexpectedly, a knock came at the unreachable door. This even spooked the elderly fellow (rightfully so, his door being inaccessible and all, not to mention the huge No Solicitors sign tacked outside).
Knowing nothing good would come of it, the old man refused to answer the door. In time, the unwelcome visitor seemingly left, and the two men merrily resumed their discussion.
But it wasn’t long before another knock sounded. Sure, The Strange High House in the Mist may have been the hardest place to reach in the town’s history. Perhaps in any town’s history. But that didn’t make it any less popular.
This time, the elderly inhabitant didn’t blink. Striding to the door, he flung it open and in marched a tide of guests, right out of the misty sea—including Nodens and Neptune. And they were all ready to party.
Olney got caught up in the festivities—he didn’t stumble back to town until morning. And Olney must have had a very good time, because as he wandered back to Kingsport proper, he didn’t remember a single thing from the night before.
People say Olney wasn’t the same after his trek up the craggy slope. He lost his sense of adventure, and became content with the mundane (umm, he was already a philosopher). Olney and his family moved out of town shortly thereafter, but during the brief remainder of his stay in Kingsport, he no longer stared up at the Strange House in the Mist with wistful imaginings. He didn’t get lost in daydreams. In time, rumors swirled around Kingsport that Olney left his soul in that little cottage up in the mist. But those were probably rumors started by people with overactive imaginations.
WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU HA
VE AN EXTENDED STAY IN KINGSPORT
Sure, Olney’s overnight visit at the house in the mist ended well, but Olney was lucky. What if he had gotten lost, or stuck on the cliff? Always remember to take the following on any hike to unreachable locations in Kingsport:
Water (always bring more than you think you need; you never know, the god of the ocean might drop by with an unquenchable thirst).
A bedroll or comfy sleeping bag.
Protein bars—enough to share with unexpected, but very determined visitors.
Rope (Climbing and descending cliffs usually require this).
A first aid kit.
Supportive hiking shoes.
Light sticks, flashlights, flares, pretty much anything that generates light.
A friend. Friends are very handy on extended journeys. You’ll have someone to talk to, and someone who can locate help, in case of emergency. And you’ll also have someone to offer up as sacrifice, if you run into nasty creatures or cultists.
A copy of Plato’s Republic (this aids in sleeping, but also might help you regain your senses about visiting impossible locations).
A map (this way you don’t walk to the neighboring town to find a path to the town in which you started).
Innsmouth
It was a town of wide extent and dense construction, yet one with a portentous dearth of visible life. From the tangle of chimney-pots scarcely a wisp of smoke came, and the three tall steeples loomed stark and unpainted against the seaward horizon. One of them was crumbling down at the top, and in that and another there were only black gaping holes where clock-dials should have been. The vast huddle of sagging gambrel roofs and peaked gables conveyed with offensive clearness the idea of wormy decay, and as we approached along the now descending road I could see that many roofs had wholly caved in.
