by Rachel Gray
The Ward family, and their physician, Dr. Marinus Willet, fretted over Charles’ mental state, hoping the travel would help the young man work some weirdness out of his system. Instead, Charles grew worse, conducting mysterious alchemical experiments in his study, and stinking-up the Ward house for weeks on end. From his isolated room, the Ward family heard bizarre chanting in an unknown language, at all hours of the day and night. And whenever Ward began his strange recitations, dogs all over town howled loudly.
Eventually Ward realized his experiments were causing concern. Moving to a bungalow in Pawtuxet, he enlisted the help of a scraggly-looking, scholarly stranger named Dr. Allen.
Ward’s arrival didn’t improve Pawtuxet’s real estate value. Suddenly, an epidemic of grave-robbing plagued the area. A series of vampiristic attacks and murders horrified the sleepy village. Not to mention there was a new dog-howling problem. And when a truckload of corpses—addressed to Ward—arrived in Pawtuxet, village-folk cast terrified and suspicious gazes toward Ward’s bungalow.
A CHANGE OF HEART . . . AND DEMEANOR
Just when it seemed things weren’t working out so well, Dr. Willet received a frantic letter from Ward. In the letter, the young man swore off all of this research nonsense, and planned to move away from the bungalow. He arranged a meeting with Dr. Willet to explain everything. Oh, and if Dr. Willet happened to see Dr. Allen anywhere about, would Willet please kidnap Allen, and dunk him in an acid bath for good measure.
Dr. Willet agreed to meet the young man (although he was noncommittal on the acid-dunking of Dr. Allen). Unfortunately, Ward was a no-show. Of course, this made everyone wonder where he was, and start searching for him. By the time the family tracked him down, Ward had suffered a change of heart—he insisted all was well, and everyone should forget his prior fussing in regard to Dr. Allen—the strange looking doctor was actually a bang-up guy.
But Charles Dexter Ward had difficulty speaking. His language was archaic, unfamiliar, and forced. His actions strained. Clearly Ward suffered from yet another change in personality and demeanor.
By now, Dr. Willet and the Ward family had reached their strangeness limit. They trucked Charles Dexter Ward off to the sanitarium, where he lived happily ever after . . . albeit a very brief ever after. Shortly following his admittance to the sanitarium, Charles Dexter Ward disappeared from the asylum, never to be heard from again.
But Pawtuxet rejoiced—the vampirism attacks ended, as well as the grave-robbing. Even the dogs were happy. Everyone considered the strange case of Charles Dexter Ward to be closed.
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED
As Ward had descended further into the depths of madness, Willet began conducting his own research into Curwen’s history. His investigations suggested Curwen had figured out how to reanimate
HOW TO CONDUCT DANGEROUS EXPERIMENTAL RESEARCH WITHOUT GETTING CAUGHT
In your attempt to prepare yourself for the world’s inevitable doom, you may find yourself needing to partake in an alchemical experiment of your own (I’m referring to the “legal” kind). So it is useful to learn from the mistakes of Charles Dexter Ward and his predecessors:
If you need corpses for your experiment, don’t dig locally! Get your corpses from a neighboring town’s cemetery.
If you need even more corpses, don’t have them shipped straight to the house in coffin-shaped boxes.
Keep it down! Believe it or not, it’s possible to keep all of that chanting to a minimal mumble. Or try sound proofing your room.
If your concoctions smell particularly putrid, consider stocking up on air fresheners, or using an outdoor laboratory (like a lean-to).
If you’re having a problem with howling dogs, visit a few dog hot-spots prior to any spell recitations. Dog biscuits laced with tranquilizers work wonders. the dead (poor Herbert West, he never did get a break). This explained Curwen’s need for those coffin-shaped boxes—they contained dead bodies for his reanimation experiments.
Consider renting a cottage—you know, one that is far away from everyone else.
If you’re suffering from changes in personality and/or demeanor, make sure you put some time in between any bouts of depression and inability to cope with other people before you start dabbling in the arcane.
Re-read any diaries you have; check the newspaper accounts about your ancestors; follow-up on rumors about previous members of your family. If you’re thorough, you’ll likely find the negatives outweigh the positives, which means you can avoid the experiments altogether.
Venting is important. If you don’t go with an isolated lab, have fans installed in your secret laboratory.
Make sure to keep the door locked to your “secret place.” Most clandestine experiments are foiled by overzealous experimenters who forget to lock the doors.
When weak-willed Ward developed an interest in his family history, Curwen manipulated the young man into doing his bidding, from beyond the grave. In Ward’s travels abroad, he found and reanimated Curwen himself. Returning to Providence under the guise of Dr. Allen, Curwen used his scraggly beard-and-glasses disguise to hide his resemblance to Ward. Eventually Ward panicked, deciding to abandon Allen and his Pawtuxet experiments. So Allen killed him and took his place. (Stick with it. Events get easier to follow.)
Eventually, Dr. Willet confronted Ward, aka Allen, aka Curwen, in the sanitarium. Curwen, realizing the jig was up, commenced chanting an incantation, in an attempt to bring down some serious pain upon Dr. Willet, in the form of none other than Yog-Sothoth. But Willet prepared ahead of time, and unleashed some nasty counter-chanting of his own. Joseph Curwen disintegrated into dust, dying for the second time—and presumably the last.
KEEPING IT IN THE FAMILY
It doesn’t take long to notice that in H.P. Lovecraft’s writings, there is a common theme about family and relatives. Heredity is a “hot topic” in the Mythos, because your ancestors can screw-up things for you long after they are gone. Some people believe that Lovecraft’s seeming fixation on heredity was connected to his father (he’d had some troubles, and spent some time in an asylum). And while this is probably true, it is also true that the entire world in Lovecraft’s day was pre-occupied with heredity. Without any understanding of genetics, the world was on fire with the desire to improve the human breeding stock. After all, humans had been improving animals through breeding, so why not humans? This notion eventually led to the Eugenics Programs of several countries—including the United States. And as Lovecraft did rely upon contemporary science and scientific theory for many of his stories, it’s not surprising he’d repeatedly return to one of the hottest topics of the day: heredity.
Of course, the early eugenics programs turned out to be bad ideas (reference World War II and the Aryan “super race” for one powerful example). So, the facts about eugenics and heredity faded away in the depths of history, leaving what appears to be Lovecraft’s and the Cthuhlu Mythos’s seemingly strange obsession with family history and genealogy.
In the end, all of this works out to be a strong reminder of the real human horrors of the past, and it serves as a warning about the future—in case history repeats itself. Again, we see the power of Lovecraft and the Cthulhu Mythos serving the world—or its demise.
MORE EXPERIMENTS IN PROVIDENCE
Some people think that H.P. Lovecraft’s famous story, “From Beyond,” serves as a warning about technology beyond mankind’s control, and the horrors it can unleash. But more importantly, it demonstrates what can happen if you aren’t supportive enough of your best friend, particularly if that best friend happens to be a total jerk.
Crawford Tillinghast, self-important scientist, had been working on a new experiment—a machine capable of creating a powerful resonance wave. This resonance wave stimulated the pineal gland. In such a stimulated state, a person could see other worlds—other dimensions, and also the creatures from those other dimensions. Basically, the things from beyond (cue dramatic music).
Naturally, Tillinghast reveale
d all of this to his best friend, with great, dramatic flourish, as the two stood in Tillinghast’s attic laboratory. But instead of receiving the admiration and support Tillinghast expected, his best friend expressed dubiousness as to whether this whole beyond thing was a good idea.
If there’s one thing you don’t do, it’s question a potentally insane, obsessed scientist about his ideas. Not surprisingly, Tillinghast was enraged, and booted the skeptic from his house, and out of his life . . . for at least two and a half months.
Eventually, the separation compelled Tillinghast to invite the friend back. The fact that Tillinghast wanted to show off his creation probably had nothing to do with the invitation. Besides, Tillinghast really had no other friends, especially the sort who would appreciate his resonance wave machine. Having spent many weeks toiling over the device, Tillinghast now prepared to gloat about his amazing success. And then kill his unsupportive best friend.
With glee, Tillinghast activated the machine. It glowed and whined—and probably popped and buzzed. After a few moments, ghastly flopping, floating creatures drifted across the attic. These creatures, Tillinghast revealed to his friend, could also see them. And these smaller beasts were nothing compared to the larger, slimier, nastier monster, just like the one that killed all of the house servants, floating just behind Tillinghast’s now decidedly ex-best friend.
And that’s what Tillinghast’s ex-best friend got for not being supportive.
So Tillinghast’s ex-best friend whipped out a gun and shot the machine (bad idea). Later, when the police arrived, they found Tillinghast dead of apoplexy, and the ex-best friend lying unconscious upon the floor (this is why you need to follow the steps about conducting secret experiements; it turns out, all of Tillinghast’s neighbors were suspicious).
However, being Mythos savvy, Tillinghast’s former best friend likely went on the market for a new best friend. They are truly indispensable—at least until you need to dispense of them.
IS EVERYONE IN THE CTHULHU MYTHOS RELATED IN SOME FASHION?
By this point, you might have noticed the reoccurences of a few last names. Popular ones are Marsh, Tillinghast, Gilman. But just because a smattering of people across a handful of stories have similar surnames doesn’t mean all of these folk are related. Actually, they’re not. They just have popular names. Oh, and the names that resemble modern, living or dead people are merely coincidence as well. Such is the power of the Cthulhu Mythos.
WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU STIMULATE YOUR PINEAL GLAND
The pineal gland is located in the center of the brain, and is reported to exist primarily for the manufacture of melatonin. However, the pineal gland, known as the “third eye,” is also believed to be connected to psychic ability, allowing a trained psychic to see beyond space and time.
To this end, always ensure your pineal gland gets plenty of exercise, and is stimulated properly:
Daily, try reaching out to others using your pineal gland. Think nice thoughts about them, and see if they respond in kind. If they respond rudely, attempt to hurt them using your pineal gland (while it’s still in your body).
With the aid of meditation, try expanding your awareness—to extend your vision beyond the realm of normal sight—using only your pineal gland.
If you have access to a resonance wave machine, you can use it to stimulate your pineal gland—but limit usage! Overstimulation of your pineal gland may result in you being dinner for an otherworldly beastie.
Invite a friend to help. First say, “pineal gland,” and ask your friend what he or she thinks it’s used for. The answer can be quite enlightening, and may result in some activity completely different from what you set out to do.
If you’re the type of person who doesn’t like playing with your pineal gland, then consider some other sort of disastrous experiment. There are plenty to choose from. No need to compromise your integrity just for a few minutes of fun with a pineal gland.
Some people have sensitive pineal glands. This means you may already be seeing long, serpentine creatures drifting around your bedroom or other places. In these cases, it is best to avoid overstimulation. Just let things be. All will work out in the end.
It is not uncommon to find yourself with an undersized pineal gland. While this doesn’t limit the amount of fun to be had, or the number of dimensions you can explore, it does tend to produce insecurity. To offset this, a person with this condition should chant every morning: I’m proud of my pineal gland; it is as big as it needs to be, and it makes me happy.
Be careful when venturing into other people’s heads—using your third eye, or pineal gland. Exploring the psychic landscape of others is considered rude in many cultures. It’s best to ask permission first—even if the other person participating is a best friend.
If you’re inexperienced at using your third eye, start slowly. Unless you’re conducting insane experiments in your attic, or longing for revenge upon your best friend, you have all of the time in the world to explore your pineal gland. Take baby steps, and make sure you engage in other activities. Obsessive behavior always leads to greater troubles.
Don’t show off your pineal gland in public. It’s fine to reveal how powerful your psychic sense is when you’re with friends, but flaunting it simply makes enemies.
THE CHURCH OF STARRY WISDOM
While in Providence, you might feel inclined to visit the infamous Church of Starry Wisdom, at the top of Federal Hill. If you do feel inclined, then don’t do it. It’s not a good idea. Lovecraft’s tale “The Haunter in the Dark” explains why.
The Starry Wisdom sect, dating back at least as far as the 1800s, has long since abandoned the church. But its dark influences remains. Locals won’t speak of the church. When asked about it, don’t be surprised if they recoil in fear, or make a strange sign with their right hand (either they’re hoping to ward off spirits, or it might be that they’re “shooing” you to go away).
The diary of Robert Blake, whose room overlooked Federal Hill, really tells us all we need to know about the church. Each day, while toiling away on his supernatural fiction novel about cults (he would have been better off staying at the Witch House in Arkham), he peered at the dark, crumbling church on the hill. Eventually, curiosity won. He decided to check out the Church of Starry Wisdom, and plodded up the hill in search of mystery.
WHAT’S UP WITH ALL THESE NON-EUCLIDEAN ANGLES?
Inside the church, Blake found typical stuff you’d find in an old, abandoned, rotting church—cobwebs, dust, broken furniture. A copy of the Necronomicon. A few other insanity-inspiring tomes. A mysterious cryptogram, housed inside a leather-bound volume. A set of notes that apparently once had belonged to the dead guy on the floor. Yes, the dead guy on the floor.
Oh, and there was also a large box, containing a strange, shimmering Shining Trapezohedron.
Just ordinary church stuff.
Upon closer inspection, the notes revealed how the Starry Wisdom sect liked to gaze into the strangely alluring trapezohedron (its decidedly non-Euclidean angles would have delighted poor Walter Gilman). When the church-goers stared into the device, a mysterious creature stared right back at them. This creature, known as the Haunter of the Dark, revealed knowledge and secrets. In return, it demanded human sacrifice. Good deal.
Blake returned to his room with the leather-bound volume, containing the cryptogram. Instead of working on his fiction book like a dutiful writer, he slogged over the cryptogram, eventually cracking it. And boy-howdy did he learn quite a bit.
The trapezohedron initially resided in Egypt. Functioning as a sort of window into other dimensions and times, the trapezohedron had been the toy of pharaoh Nephren-Ka (who, by the way, was rumored to be a toy of the mischievous deity, Nyarlathotep). The creature inside the traphezoderon, The Haunter of the Dark, despised light—hence the creature’s name. It mostly kept to the non-Providence side of the trapezohedron, thanks to an ample supply of streetlamps in the town.
WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU ENCOUNTER A SHINI
NG TRAPOZOHEDRON
Don’t look at it. Maybe before reading this book you had an excuse, but now you don’t—unless you skipped this section.
Avoid the slightest glance in its general direction. The more you flirt with peeking at it, the greater the compulsion becomes to give it a good, hard stare.
Poke yourself with a stick. Or have a close friend do it. A poke in the eye is probably the best bet. This will likely keep you preoccupied, and perhaps even produce a slight aversion toward the thing you should not be gazing at.
When you do eventually look at it (and let’s face it, you know you will), try not to stare at it for very long. Maybe set an egg timer.
After you’ve stared at it for awhile (obviously ignoring the chime of the egg timer), you will notice a Haunter of the Dark staring back at you. At this point, you really need to stop looking at it.
Once you’ve stared at the Hunter in the Dark long enough to learn its secrets, offer up your friend as the sacrifice (after all, he did poke you in the eye with a stick).
Try as you might, you can’t trick the Haunter of the Dark. Using your pineal gland and its third eye abilities won’t work.
Speaking of tricks, while no one has tried, you could set-up a series of mirrors, and gaze at the shining trapozohedron indirectly. If this one works, send me a note. Or have your friend send me a note, because if it did work, you’re about to lose your mind.
