A thick envelope proved to contain clippings of a more or less facetious nature about “Odd Happenings at Dunwich,” as one headline announced. These were largely from the Arkham Advertiser, and set forth, tongue in cheek, accounts of “monsters” which had been conjured into some kind of illusory life by the bootleg-whiskey drinkers of Dunwich. Walters read them with some amusement, but he could not escape the fact that something had indeed taken place at Dunwich, something well out of the ordinary that someone from Miskatonic University had finally succeeded in keeping out of the paper after the Advertiser had had its fun with the tales. Too, there was associated with the events at Dunwich the very real death of one Wilbur Whateley, which had taken place just prior to their occurrence, and not in Dunwich at all, but within the grounds of Miskatonic University in Arkham. Some additional clippings from the Aylesbury Transcript were no less amusing, but again, all the facetiousness did not conceal the fact that there had been rather strange occurrences at Dunwich in that summer of 1928, culminating in September of that year.
Not quite seven years ago, thought Walters. There had been mention of one Dr. Henry Armitage, librarian at Miskatonic University, in connection with the events at Dunwich; Walters made a mental note to explore the possibility that Dr. Armitage might still be available for an interview, if he decided to go that far in his exploration of the Whateley family background. Certainly there was nothing concrete in the tales of the “Goings-On” in the Dunwich country; the only definite facts seemed to add up to the death of a large number of cattle and other livestock, and some disappearances among the country people there, but even in these instances the names were garbled and altered in one account after another, and none of these were Whateleys, though a Bishop in one instance was a cousin. But how distant, it was impossible to say; the Whateley family tree abounded with other names—Bishop, Hoag, Marsh, and more; and it was decidedly possible that the Reverend Hoag who had so unwisely leveled his charge at one of the Dunwich families—(Walters had the strong suspicion that the object of his sermon was the Whateley family)—might himself have been a distant cousin.
He turned to the family tree and scrutinized it a little more attentively. He sought but did not find the Reverend Jeptha Hoag there, though there was a round dozen of Hoags listed. Plainly, too, there was considerable intermarriage within the family—cousins married cousins frequently—Elizabeth Bishop to Abner Whateley, Lavinia Whateley to Ralso Marsh, Blessed Bishop to Edward Marsh, and so on; thus decayed and degenerate stock would tend to increase the decadence in the family, or at least that branch of it that was in the habit of referring to the others as “the eddicated ones.”
Walters did not know what to make of what he had read when he sat back to contemplate it. He had in reality learned little more than the lawyer, Boyle, had told him—that Dunwich was a forgotten backwater, that the Whateley family was decadent, that many odd tales came out of Dunwich, very probably much exaggerated by more superstitious neighbors, and as much derided by those who considered themselves free of superstitious beliefs. Yet it seemed to him that there was a singular variety of material recorded, in one vein or another—he did not want to undertake further reading of what appeared to him to be only variations on the same theme—but all with a dark undercurrent, an oddly disturbing one, all the more so since he felt himself irresistibly bound to what he had read in some way beyond his understanding; and while he told himself that he could not now take more time to read further in the Whateley file, he was aware of a disquieting unwillingness to read more.
He closed the file and brought it back to the reference librarian.
“I trust it has been of some use to you, Mr. Walters,” said Paul.
“Yes, indeed, it has. I thank you. I may return to study it a little further as time permits.”
“By all means, sir.” He hesitated diffidently. “Do I take it you are related to the Whateleys?”
“I have inherited some property there,” said Walters. “I am not aware of a relationship.”
“Forgive me,” said the librarian hastily. “I only thought—I knew some of those people. You do bear a certain superficial resemblance, but then, I suppose, we could find equally superficial resemblances among a great many totally unrelated people.”
“I am sure we could,” agreed Walters amiably. But he was nettled, and at the same time unpleasantly disturbed. Tobias Whateley had not troubled to conceal his conviction that there was a relationship; he had called him “cousin”—though with an edge of scorn in his voice. Mr. Paul’s casual suggestion had been made with utmost deference, however. The librarian looked so apologetic that he was moved to add, “Of course, there may be some distant connection. That family tree is quite extensive, and I am not informed as to why my late father came into the property.”
“May I ask which property it is?”
“They call it the old Cyrus Whateley place.”
Mr. Paul’s face cleared. “That Mr. Whateley was…”
Walters interrupted, smiling. “Don’t tell me. The natives in Dunwich would have called him one of ‘the eddicated’ Whateleys.”
“I was about to say so,” rejoined the librarian.
“And I can see that that puts a different face on the presumed relationship, Mr. Paul. You needn’t deny it.”
“I won’t. There really are some terrible stories about the other branch, sir. You’ll uncover them, I have no doubt. I know those clippings you examined treat them all lightly, but there is more than a grain of truth in them, and I am convinced that there are very strange—and I fear, hideous—things happening in the remoter parts of the Dunwich country.”
“As there are in many remote areas of the world,” said Walters.
He left the library with mixed emotions. The possibility of a relationship to the Whateley clan could not be readily dismissed. His father had said little about his family background, though he had not concealed the family’s American origin. He did not feel particularly pleased at the thought; but on the other hand he was not conscious of any viable antipathy, either.
The ambivalence of his attitude troubled him. He felt at one and the same time involved and withdrawn. The England he had left but so short a while ago seemed infinitely more remote than he would have thought possible; the Dunwich country toward which he drove held for him an indefinable attraction, not alone in its wildness that presented a dark attractiveness to the eye and the imagination, but as well in its curious alienation from the surrounding world that pressed ever more hastily and madly toward some looming goal that must, at man’s ever-increasing pace, be utterly destructive to humanity and civilization.
The house, when he reached it, seemed to anticipate him, as were it waiting upon his return. Its presence was tangible, yet he could not isolate its source, though it seemed to him anew that the central room was the heart of the house, and he almost consciously expected to hear the same odd pulsing he had been aware of in the night. This absurd impression passed, but, as he entered the central room, he was prey to another.
The room, now that he saw it, seemed to have been arranged for company, with the chair drawn up to the table and the ledgers lying there. He crossed over and sat down to the table. He had looked into the ledgers before. Now he lifted the cover of the top one, and saw before him a thin envelope across the face of which had been scrawled, “For Him Who Will Come.”
It was unsealed. He picked it up, and drew out the thin sheet of paper folded inside.
“For Charles,” he read, “or the son of Charles, or the grandson of Charles, or Who Comes After…
“Read, that you may know, that you may prepare to wait for Those Who Watch, and fulfill that which is meant to be.”
There was no signature, but the writing was crabbed and uncertain.
Unfinished at the time of August Derleth’s death, July 4, 1971.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
AUGUST DERLETH was a friend and literary student of H. P. Lovecraft, with whom he shared a great deal of
correspondence. After Lovecraft’s death, he and Donald Wandrei attempted to publish a collection of the author’s stories, but in the face of little interest from extant publishers, they founded Arkham House in 1939 with the aim of publishing Lovecraft’s work themselves. Derleth also wrote many stories after Lovecraft’s passing based on fragments and notes he had left behind.
HOWARD PHILLIPS LOVECRAFT was raised in Providence, Rhode Island, by his mother and two maiden aunts. As a young man, he suffered a nervous breakdown and gradually became a recluse, emerging years later as a prolific essayist, poet, and correspondent. It was not until after the failure of his brief marriage and New York habitation that he returned to Providence and began to produce the writings for which he is now most famous, including At the Mountains of Madness and The Call of Cthulhu. Lovecraft died of cancer in the town of his birth in 1937.
THE H. P. LOVECRAFT EDITIONS FROM DEL REY BOOKS
Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre:
The Best of H. P. Lovecraft
Dreams of Terror and Death:
The Dreamcycle of H. P. Lovecraft
The Road to Madness:
The Transition of H. P. Lovecraft
The Horror in the Museum
Waking Up Screaming
Shadows of Death
At the Mountains of Madness and Other Stories
OTHER COLLECTIONS IN THE LOVECRAFTIAN WORLD
Tales of Cthulhu Mythos: H. P. Lovecraft and Others
Cthulhu 2000: Stories Inspired by H. P. Lovecraft
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM THE MODERN LIBRARY
At the Mountains of Madness:
The Definitive Edition
The stories collected in The Watchers Out of Time are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
2008 Del Rey Trade Paperback Edition
Collection copyright © 1974 by April R. Derleth and Walden W. Derleth
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
DEL REY is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in different form in hardcover in the United States by Arkam House Publishers, Inc., in 1974. This edition was first published by Carroll & Graf in paperback in 1991. Reprinted by arrangement with Arkham House Publishers, Inc.
“The Survivor,” copyright 1954, by Weird Tales, for Weird Tales; copyright 1957, by August Derleth
“Wentworth’s Day,” copyright 1957, by August Derleth for The Survivor and Others
“The Peabody Heritage,” copyright 1957, by August Derleth for The Survivor and Others
“The Gable Window,” copyright 1957, by Candar Publishing, Inc. (as The Murky Glass), for Saturn; copyright 1957, by August Derleth
“The Ancestor,” copyright 1957, by August Derleth for The Survivor and Others
“The Shadow Out of Space,” copyright 1957, by August Derleth for The Survivor and Others
“The Lamp of Alhazred,” copyright 1957, by August Derleth for The Survivor and Others
“The Shuttered Room,” copyright 1959, by August Derleth for The Shuttered Room and Other Pieces
“The Fisherman of Falcon Point,” copyright 1959, by August Derleth for The Shuttered Room and Other Pieces
“Witches’ Hollow,” copyright 1962, by August Derleth, for Dark Mind, Dark Heart
“The Shadow in the Attic,” copyright 1964, by August Derleth for Over the Edge
“The Dark Brotherhood,” copyright 1966, by August Derleth for the Dark Brotherhood and Other Pieces
“The Horror from the Middle Span,” copyright 1967, by August Derleth for Travellers by Night
“Innsmouth Clay,” copyright 1971, by August Derleth for Dark Things
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