A letter from Timmons the very next morning called me back to NY immediately. The events it would unfold would end our intended rest before we had hoped. She wrote by wire only that her son “is in trouble and needs our assistance”, and of course I could not possiblly say no to her. Will made the trip with me. Atwater remained to see to Theolonius’ recovery after the lighthouse battle, and Jack stayed to guard him while he himself recuperated. When we arrived, upon exiting the, I would have sworn and oath that I caught a brief glimpse of Father John, as he looked across a crowd at me for but an instant before ducking into the throng of people. I exclaimed “Will, did you see that? It looked like Father John! Though I know him to be torn to pieces!” Will did not see him, but we took a brief look around anyway but did not see him again. So, we continued on our way.
Mrs. Timmons was very upset and it was all she could do but not weep uncontrolably. “Brian has gone insane. I had to have him committed.”
Myself “For what reason?”
“He had grown increasingly moody and withdrawn. He eventually moved away to an old farmhouse near Woonsocket, RI. Now he has gone insane. Can you go to visit him at the hospital and try to find out what has happened?”
I of course said I would do so immediately. I asked how the little girl was doing, she who Theolonius saved, and Timmons said she was doing fine. Even considering adopting her.
I went on to press her gently for more details on her son, and she explained that for the last 2 years or so, her son had been investigating his family history. He found out about an ancestor, of whose name she is not sure, who lived on a farm near Woonsocket, RI. He travelled there, bought the farm and lived there. When he came home soon after he had a friend with him, a man named Mr. Banes. After not hearing a word from her son for months he then returned to NY to visit again, this time alone, but Ms. Timmons insists something was different about him. She did not press the matter with her son. Back in Woonsocket he then got into some trouble with the law over accusations of graverobbing. She does not believe him to be a criminal of course, and he was committed to an asylum in order to saving him from prison. For when the police arrived at his farmhouse he “exploded in a violent rage”. Now, he is at a sanitorium in Providence. His doctors declared him prone to sudden outbursts of violence and have given up treatment due to his not being responsive. Mrs. Timmons refused to give up hope though, pleading that her son is all she has left.
I remember his death, he had just visited his son in Providence about a year go and within days of being home, tumbled off the balcony to his death. Considering these new developements, it seemed it may not have been an accident, though I said nothing of the sort to Timmons.
She knows absolutely no details of her son’s research. She allowed us a search of her son’s bedroom in and quickly I noticed a slim black and untitled volume on his bookcase. After our experience with wicked books, it looked suspicious enough.
I said “Something for Theolonius, maybe. We shouldn’t risk looking at it ourselves. Do you mind if we take this with us, Ms. Timmons?”
She replied “Of course not”, so I quickly brushed it into my satchel and a search of the rest of the house came up short of clues. We stayed at my home for the night and left for the station in the morning, but first wired those of us in Arkam to keep them appraised of our intentions and location. A wire back said “Theolonius healing steadily considering condition, still immobile.” It would turn out to be a few days still before he would become truly mobile.
As when we arrived in NY, I thought I caught sight of Father John out of the corner of my eye as we were about to board, and would have considered it only an illusion if not for Will seeing it this time as well! And if I did not have such trust in my own senses. Jack also then told of how he thought he saw him as he saw us off at the station. I remarked about not usually trusting Jack’s utter lack of astute observation, but since I saw him myself…
It would prove to be half an illusion, of a sort.
As a side note, the graverobbing reminds me of similar circumstances in the Massachusetts town of Martin’s Beach. It may be worth investigating later.
The sanitorium is a private hospital just north of Providence. I informed the office of my behavioral sciences degree from Miskatonic and they allowed me to see the Timmons son with no opposition. They said they had no knowedge of his notes and information concerning his research. The doctor described him as very disruptive and violent, while the attendants were very unnerved by the mere presence of him; many threatened to quit if they had to work with him. I asked what their plans were for him long term, and he said they planned to send him to a larger facility for the insane, locked away for the rest of his life.
We were then led down a long white hall to his padded cell. A guard made sure he was secured prior to our entering. He was bound by a sturdy straight jacket of canvas, the room windowless and but for a cot had no furnishings. Holding his legs bent in front of him, he silently watched us enter. We did so slowly and calmly.
Myself “Timmons my boy, it’s Westinghouse from New York. Brian, young boy, what on earth happened to you? Your mother sent us.”
Will added “She’s very worried.”
I then sat next to him and he said to us without moving or looking at either myself or Will “Good day Mr. Westinghouse.” His tone was flat, uncaring, calm, and I didn’t hold it against him considering his predicament.
I asked “What happened that got you here, Brian?”
“My mother. Obviously she’s a fool. She doesn’t understand the researching that I was doing. She thinks this trumped up charge of graverobbing was true and she had me committed.”
I assured him that was untrue, that she simply did not want him to be in prison and sent us to clear this messup, and he said that we must get him out of here. I told him to tell us where all of his information was. He replied he did not remember much, for being locked up in such a place has effected his mind.
I said “Do the best you can to explain what you were working on. And this graverobbing charge?”
“Now that I don’t know! I was accused but there was no evidence.”
“Accused by whom? Just start at the beginning, leave nothing out even the slightest detail.”
“I hired a man, who turns out to be very much a neirdowell, named Walter Hailey. A local indignent of questionable reputation. I hired him to help keep the place up, while I was doing research into my ancestors, as a handyman. Unfortunately there is very little to know. They have been here since the time of the pilgrims, but are somewhat of a boring lot. He’s the one who went to the police and accused me of all sorts of things: devil worshipping, grave robbbery… I have no idea why he did this.”
Will “I have to ask, and don’t take this the wrong way but…were you worshipping devils?”
brian “Of course not!”
Will “As part of your research into your family, was there anything you had found that this gentleman could have misconstrued as being strange and supernatural.”
Brian “I think he’s a devilworshipper.”
Will “He very well could be.”
Myself “Yes, he could be projecting all of his doings onto you to get you in trouble. So you found nothing interesting in you family heritage?”
Brian “Correct. Next thing I know he stole $20 and ran off.”
Myelf “That’s all he stole?”
Brian “Yes, and I thought good riddance to him, so I didn’t bother reporting it. Next thing I know the police show up.”
Will “What grave did they accuse you of robbing?”
Brian “Some grave in the back of the cemetary. It was from before the revolutionary war, desecrated and in one of the oldest parts of the cemetary. The occupant was impossible to tell thanks to the state of the headstone. Very few burial records of course from that time, so no one could ID the body. What kind of body is still going to be intact from then? What kind of bodysnatcher go after a body like that? It makes no sense.”
Myself “Unless something was in the grave buried with the body. And they arrested based on Hailey’s accusation. What would cause them to arrest you with no evidence?”
Brian “If he goes to the police and says ‘that weirdo that bought that small farm out there, not farming just living there, is the one who broke in and robbed the grave, and I know cause I worked for him’ they will come and investigate. And I may have overreacted a bit. When they could find no evidence they let me go, but next day the men in white coats came and took me away.”
Myself “Is the investigation ongoing?”
Brian “I have no idea.”
Will and I stepped out of the cell at this point to talk in private.
Will “We are going to have to go investigate this ourselves, and we need to take him with us. If we leave him here we could lose him to transfer.”
Myself “Or deeper madness.”
Will “Right, or even crazier. Maybe you can check him out as his psychologist, into your care. Say that his medical doctor is Atwater and he will be arriving shortly.”
I had a good talk with the doctors, and convinced them of Atwater’s being Brian’s medical doctor and myself being his psychiatrist. “Be my guest” he said in the end. That along with the letter from his mother was more than enough to persuade them to set him free in mine and Atwater’s care.
We sent word to our men in Arkam to meet us in Woonsocket as soon as Theo was mobile, and procured ourselves rooms in Woonsocket with plans to investigate the farm in the morning. Brian was obviously overjoyed at being released by his countenance alone, yet still very quiet overall. He told us that he did try to convince the doctor of his sanity, but it was as if the doctor assumed he was so simply because he was in an asylum, so he must be insane. A circle with no real beginning. Everything he said to the contrary was simply interpreted so as to reinforce their belief. He felt as if he had no hope.
In the morning, after breakfast, Brian made to relieve himself in the bathroom so I followed him, ostensibly to do the same but in fact just to keep an eye on him. I payed with the money I good-naturedly pilfered from Atwater’s pocket as we left Arkam, and we made it to the farmhouse. It is quite old and somewhat dilapidatad. Into the back door the kitchen is to the left, cloakroom to the right, a door straight ahead leading to a hallway opening into a foyer for the stairway to the second floor and the front door. To either side of this is the dining room and study, the entrances being only arched openings. Upstairs was the master bedroom and a guest room. No basement; 1 outhouse.
“Now what did you want to see?”
Myself “All the information you’ve been working on.”
Will “The family history research, but I’d also like to see the grave. We should also try to get a look at the police report.”
Myself “We need to find this Hailey fellow. Is he a native in the town?”
Brian “Yes. Whether he is still here I can’t know. All of my research is in the desk. Now if you pardon me I am going to go upstairs and check my bedroom.”
Myself “I will accompany you, so as to search the house before we disturb too much. Will, get youself started on studying the research papers.”
Upstairs, everything seeemed perfectly normal. In the study Will saw a rolltop desk, the lock to which had been forced open, and an old cigar butt on the floor that had burned the rug slightly before going out. A letter was found in the desk, from Brian’s father. It speaks of a “damning” converstion Mr. Timmons overheard during his visit, evidently between Brian and Hailey. In it, Brian’s father begs him to “put aside these abominable practices” and end his relationship with Hailey. He says Mrs. Timmons heart has been broken and he asks Brian to return home, and cryptically “the police will never know”. Across the bottom, in an somewhat archaic fashion and not the father’s hand, is written ‘right ye be olde foole’.
Will “Westinghouse? Come down here.”
Myself “What would you like to do Brian?”
He stated he just wanted to rest in his own bed, so I recommended a nap while I checked on Will’s calling me downstairs. Will immediately showed me all he had found and I investigated the room intently. The cigar was of the worthless 5-cent sort which one could get at a number of places in any town. “A true cigar smoker would never smoke one of this sort”.
Just here I thought of keeping an eye on Brian’s window, and as I walked to the backdoor I could see out the back window and caught sight of movement in the distant woods. I went out the back and had a stong feeling of being watched. Will joined me momentariy and both of us saw something moving in the foliage. Not wanting to risk it, with only two of us present, we went back inside. Will thought of asking a neighbor or passerby to watch the house as we investigated the woods, but I did not think this prudent considering the nearest neighbor was a mile away and a passerby any second was unlikely. Anyway I did not want to leave Brian alone in case that is what an interloper was hoping we would do. We decided to take some time now to open the black book found in Brian’s room in NY.
Opening it revealed a title ‘Thaumaturgical Prodigies in the New England Canaan’, by Reverend Ward Phillips. A thin volume of witchcraft and the like in the New England area. We began leafing through the book and found an old woodcut portrait of a man named D. Timmons, who looked almost identical to Brian. In the text he seemed to be only mentioned briefly: being accused of witchcraft in 1642, but escaped to Rhode Island.
Just then I heard the back door creak, and we both drew pistols. Will exclaimed in a whisper “Bullocks” to which I replied, with our lacking Theolonius and Jack in a scrape, “bullocks, indeed”. We both crept to the back door on the alert, but luckily the noise was not a prelude to deadly combat. What it had been was Brian, for we saw his shape disappearing into the woods.
Will “Shoot him in the leg!” but the man being a couple hundred feat distance was surely out of our range for such a shot, and most others’ I would expect. Will and I both yelled for him to come back, and out of shear duty for the family I almost followed him, and Will’s insistance at the danger delayed us only a few seconds before we both made chase. Withing a minute we caught sight of him, about 100’ away. To our horror he turned and made some sort of symbol with his hands, directed straight at me. My instinctive response was ‘dive’ but it was to no avail. Immediately I could not breath. I heard a shot from Will’s revolver, and with amazing luck considering the boy’s lack of experience, he winged the spellcaster with his .38-8. Who or whatever it really was (for this could not possibly be Brian Timmons) turned and fled. Will turned to me, as I knelt on hands and knews literally coughing up water which had spontaneously manifested itselff in my lungs, as if I were drowning. Which I was! The spell had conjured water directly into my lungs. Will, through shear instinct, grabbed me from behind squeezed my lungs almost hard enough to crack my ribs. Yet this probably saved my life. I half-seizured trying to force it up at the same time and coughed up an unnaturally copious amount of water in one heave. I finally caught my breath then, and was fast none the worse for wear. We sped in the direction the sorcerer fled and ended at a small river, unfordable at that particular spot. We turned back to the house where we checked Brian’s bedroom. There we saw a floorboard pried up, though whatever was hidden there was taken with him, and a note on the bed read ‘thank ye for releasing me from duriance vile. See ye soon, idiots’; a taunt from an evil dog who looks like, or inhabits the body of, poor Brian. For that must be our assumption of the state of affairs. And we freed the lunatic! Poor Brian we now tragically assume must be dead.
I took time to search the house in greater detail, including the study, directing Will back to the research of Brian’s papers. I found a large antique key rather quickly, but the rest of the house contained nothing of importance. In the papers on the desk, Will came upon pre-revolutionary war documents which revealed horrors in the case we hadn’t expected to find in what seemed like a case unrelated to our latest lines of action. These included a letter addressed to ‘Heir Timmons"…from a German apparently. It read:
I trust this last shipment has been suitable. I am pleased to have been of some service to you and hope it will help you to decide whether to accept my offer of induction into the organization. I expect your response to my offer within the month.
Our hearts sank. Our souls sank. Our minds sank. These unspeakable Mythos entities infest New England at every turn. We can not escape them. Nothing escapes their tentacles, they are ever reaching and ever present.
Next Will found Brian’s journal, recording some of his researches, especially of a Douglas Timmons that was run out of Salem for lothesome practices. Douglas then came to live in this very house for many years, but then at some point was attacked by locals. He had been here so many years that people who knew him when young had grown old and died while he stayed ever young! He was killed and buried, evidently somewhere near here in a secret grave about a half mile east of the farmhouse. Nothing about the cemetary and grave therein which Brian was framed for exhuming is mentioned. A location of an old tower near the river is, however, about 200 yards from the burial. So, a clue at least to its whereabouts. Likely the tower is gone by now, though a foundation should be noticeable.
Will “I don’t think we should do anything else about this sorcerer until we have the rest of our men. At this point, I think we should go into town and update them. Then talk to the police about information on Hailey, since he’s a local.”
Myself “It should not escape us that the letter was written by a Baron ‘H’, it could be ‘H’ for Hailey.”
On one wall of the room I noticed a loose piece of panelling. We both predicted exaclty what we would find.
Will “There’s a body behind it. I know it.”
Myself “It’s going to be Brian.”
Indeed, poor Brian’s body, may he rest in peace, was stuffed in the wall. He had likely been dead for weeks (doubtless Atwater could have narrowed the timing down more precisely). So, to Woonsocket we went, wishing we had left the wretch in the asylum in his straight jacket. He must be powerful, it took 6 police to overpower him at his arrest. Luckily for us, we number 6 as well.
In town we wired Arkam.
Will “I am not going back to that house or the woods without reinforcements. Should we tell the police about ‘Brian’ being loose in the woods, or leave that to ourselves so that they don’t get uncooperative with us for loosing him?”
Myself “We can tell them there were ruffians and otherwise nasty folk about the property, so that neighbors will be careful at night.”
This we did, and after some discussion they allowed us to see the police report on the arrest and graverobbery. It contained no new leads. Though Hailey is a person of interest, they can connect nothing to him. He did indeed turn Brian in, so it is not Hailey who is the sorcerer. He would not have turned himself in!
The police still have no idea of the identity of the body in the grave which Brian supposedly dug up, though we know that it was likely dug up after Brian’s death.
3 days after our return to Woonsocket, our friends arrived late morning and we filled them in over brunch. Three leads we possessed at this moment: The approximate location of Timmons grave; a ruined tower near the river; and by this time, we had found during the previous 3 days that Walter Hailey lived in a cabin in the woods.
Myself “We should first check out Walter Hailey.”
Hailey’s residence is nothing but a shack on the other side of the river, a half mile upstream from the Timmons farm. It’s a filthy place and was recently falling apart, though had obviously been reinforced of late. next to the shed sat an old brokendown wagon. As we approached, the house even outside smelled of old body odor, and cheap cigars of the sort found on the farm floor.
Myself “Mr. Hailey” I called, and he cracked open the door, sticking the business end of an old shotgun a few inches out at us.
“Get outta here, I don’t want to talk to nobody!”
Myself “We seek your assistatnce, we mean you no harm. There’s a nefarious fellow afoot, and we need your help to bring him to justice or slay him while doing so.”
“I don’t know anybody named Timmons.”
Mysef “I think you do. You left one of your cigar butts on his floor.”
“I don’t smoke cigars.”
Myself “We could smell them a mile away, sir! We only want information, anything you know about him, so that we can destroy him and the evil he represents.”
While Will and I kept him busy talking, Jack, at the back of the group and out of Hailey’s limited sight, left us and snuck around to the back of the house of his own accord.
Hailey “You can’t kill him, no one can kill him.”
Theo “We need to try.”
“He’s already dead! Now get outta here!”
Myself “Just help us with information, what we need to know.”
“If I help you I’m a dead man.”
Will “You may be in danger of that already. The man is loose in these very woods.”
He did not like this revelation and imediately screamed in anger and fright “Get outta here!!” then proceeded to pull back and slam the door on us. In the rear, Jack had succeeded in sneaking through an open window. As Hailey backed up from the door, Jack made his move to disarm Walter of his doublebarrel. In this he succeeded by surprise, and hearing the scuffle from the front, Theolonius flew at the door foot first, blowing the door off it’s hinges.
Walter knelt on the floor screaming and crying in a frenzy “No! dont’t let him get me, don’t let him get me! No!”
Myself “We dont’t want him to get you, settle down.”
Jack “We can protect you.”
Walter “You don’t know this guy, what he’s capable of. I didn’t mean to rob the grave, he made me do it.”
Theo “Tell us the whole story.”
“I was minding my business, just loitering by the cemetary. Timmons came by. Threatened to turn me in for crimes I didn’t commit. Accusing me, said he could prove I broke into the church there, and stole from the poor box. I never did such a thing in my life, I’m a hard working man. So, he made me come home with him, he did evil things.”
Theo, from the front door standing watch “Such as?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I heard terrible chanting from upstairs.”
Myself “What did he keep you there for, what did he want from you?”
“He wanted me to dig up the body.”
Will “He needed the old body.”
Myself “A body from the Timmons grave or the other grave?”
Walter “The cemetary grave. He told me the name on the grave. ‘Jason Greeley’.”
Myself “What did he want with the body? Did he say?”
“He took it to his room. When he came down, he had a glass bottle full of…”
“Maybe. It was a fine white, like a powder. When I went up and looked in the room, Greeley’s body was gone. Before anything could happen to me, I told the police he robbed the grave. And it was him! I only did what he made me do!” The poor man had certainly suffered mentally and emotionally from the ordeal. I feel genuinely sorry for him, he will never be the same again. His sanity has slipped considerably.
Searching his room, I found some old coins from the before the revolution stashed under his bed. Walter said he stole them from the desk at the farmhouse, having broken in after he locked up Timmons. Also, a hand drawn map showing the cemetary in Woonsocket and the exact location of the dug up grave plot. So, with no legible marker or records of the plot, the man masquerading as Brian must know it was Greeley’s grave, from experience or magic.
Walter “Now leave me be, leave me be.”
Myself “These kinds of people don’t often like leaving loose ends.”
Walter “Then what should I do?”
Will “You can either stay with us, which will be very dangerous, or go back to town and hope for safety there.”
Though Walter didn’t like the idea of not being able to carry his gun at all times, he chose to make for town. We left him to his own fate, whatever it would be, and went in search of the tower. We told him to take some of the gold coins and make some money off of them.
The tower ruins were easy to find, in fact. Just before we did, Atwater said he swore someone was following us in the woods a few minutes ago, and he was hoping to get a better look but then the person was gone. The tower was now just the ring of a stone foundation, as expected, varying between a few inches to a few feet high. We made a search of the area, Atwater keeping a lookout with Theolonius. It took only seconds for me to find the trapdoor within the perimeter, under inches of dirt slightly different from the rest because of recent movement through the door. We opened it without hesitation. After taking a good look around us, and seeing no one watching us, we all decended into the darkness, lanterns lit. What we entered was a crypt, though empty of bodies, with a stone door on the far wall. We could hear no sound from the other side and it opened easily. A narrow tunnel led to heavy oaken door fixed with an antique lock after a length of 30’. The lock was latched, and Will quickly and smartly thought “Try the key from the desk.” It clicked open and we opened the door. It revealed a circlular stone room, some 80’ in diameter. On the far side was another set of wooden doors, a long wooden ladder resting on the floor near it. Built into the floor of the room were 10 round iron grates, each about a yard across. We heard breathing and shuffling noises yet saw nothing moving by our lantern-light. We readied for danger, myself and Jack in front, and stepped into the room with revolvers ready and Theo right behind us. Atwater brought up the rear. We stopped and listened, and could now tell the noises were coming from within the grates. We carefully entered, and looked into the first grate. Within was a horribly deformed man, his eyes revealing a discrete lack of normal human intelligence. It moaned loudly at seeing us. When it did so, noises from the other grates showed the vile truth, they all contained such suffering souls! The moaning became “I’m hungry, feed me.” All naked, completely mad, and now less than human. Many had taken bites out of themselves in their hunger.
I told Theo and Atwater to go back, make sure we were not about to be trapped here. Looking up at the entrance they met another man standing on the ground above, looking down upon them. He seemed to be wearing the frock of a priest.
Atwater “Who are you?”
“A friend, or your worst nightmare.”
Theo “I would prefer friend. What are you doing here?”
“I might be one to erradicate evil, or you. Tell me what happened to Father John.”
Will now showed up “That man was a hero.”
Theo “He died a hero’s death, battling a gigantic tentacled beast on the shores near Kingsberry. I am Brother Theolonius Wang. This is Dr. Atwater and Will McNamara.”
Jack now showed up in case of trouble “I’m Jack Burton.”
The man “Who?” Ignoring Jack and moving on he revealed “And I am Father Jon.”
Theo “Are you related to John Johnson?”
“I am Father Jonathan Johnson. Identical twin to John Johnson.”
Theo “What brings you here, Father?”
Will “Have you come to help us?”
“I am here to kill you for causing my brother’s death.”
Theo “Father John took the brunt of the assault from the Cthulhu spawn at the end, to help save us all.”
He explained he knew the moment his brother died, they had a kind of psychic link. He has always been intuned with the supernatural, and learned some things on what turns out to be Archimedes’ Mythos, turning his life to the church. His brother went the way of psychology and theology, and long ago had a premonition of his own death against a disgusting tentacled creature of the sea. Jonathan got John into the church and the Jesuit brotherhood. Prior to our trip to Arkam John had sent his brother a letter predicting his end was near. Upon John’s death, he made his way to the area. As it turns out, this Jon is more of a militant evil-hunter than Father John the psychiatrist, and was the source of the blessed ammunition John had for us once. He is still steeped in theology and religious counseling.
“Theo “Do you know why we are here, in Woonsocket?”
He had a vague idea, having been tailing us for a couple days, and Theo gave him a summary of the case. He entered the tunnels and came to the room.
Jack “Are they zombies?”
Jon “These are dead who have been resurrected from there essential salts. But, whoever did so was experimenting by taking handfulls out so they would come back deformed and feebleminded. Likely to be slaves.”
Jack “So we should just kill them all, it would be better for them.”
Theo “Put them out of their misery.”
Jon said there is a method, an incantation which is quite easy if you know it, to bring a person back via there essential salts and to reverse them back into their essential salts. Here, Theolonius recalled the essential salts we discovered in Bishop’s house, a bottle of which I took, and the passage found with them, which we copied at the time! Jon said that read forward it would bring one back from their salts, and read backward it would reduce one to their salts. Anyone can do this, as it is not truly a spell per se, but it can have a minor effect on ones sanity.
Jack “Still sounds easier to shoot them in the head. You’d have to do that 10 times.” We all loaded our shotguns, and perfomed the grim but necessary work.
After, we opened the unlocked double doors. A small square chamber lay beyond, containing a table, shelves filled with sealed bottles, and an ornate wooden chair of red velvet. Strapped onto the chair by stout leather was a once human body in a disgusting state. Eyes were closed, torn rags hanging from its body covering little. A leg was terribly shriveled, one foot at an odd angle, drool running out of its mouth, one arm crossed in front of its chest was literally attached, skin to skin, to the torso grotesquely. The closer we got, the more grotesqueness we could see.
Myself to the others “Greely?”
Jack “Atwater, check him.”
Reluctantly, Atwater did so after a nervous pause. The thing immediately began screaming and babbling “You awful man Douglas Timmons?” He wailed and cried in complete agony to his core.
Myself “Are you Greely?”
This man suffered at every word, every moment, and it shown indescribably in his voice and manner “Yes, I am Jason Greely.”
Jack “What did you do to this man to make him want to do this to you?”
It turns out he was the organizer of the taking of Douglas Timmons. They captured him as he fled, and Timmons swore that even beyond death he would get revenge on Greely.
“Then, there I was in the nothingness of death, and suddenly he woke me. Brought me back. And, and has done unspeakable things to me.
Theo “We’ll put you back to rest, Greely, if that’s what you desire.”
“Yes, please” he begged.
Myself “What are his plans?”
“Only to get revenge on all those involved in his death, and more. He showed great glee in telling me the fate in store for my great great grandchildren. Then he spoke of finding, resurrecting something he called The Beast.”
Theo “Where was he going to get this beast? Or its remnants.”
“He talked of a prophecy in a book called ’Ktabh al Azib (sp)”.
Theo “Did he have the book?”
“No. He talked of a Baron Halktman, who he would join to help do this. And of Egyptians Nofrakha, and a prophecy by some Abdul al Hazred.”
Theo “The mad Arab!”
“Who had written a tome that he desprately wanted to see, he kept calling…”
Myself “The Necronomicon?”
“No, he kept calling it the Al-Hazif.”
Theo “The word is known as the sound that insects and demons make. It is an Arab name of the Necronomicon.”
Jon “Yes, before it was translated into Greek.”
Greely “He talked of the Baron, and the brotherhood of the beast. But the Baron was around during my life, how could he be alive?”
Theo “By his essential salts?”
Will “No way he’s dead. With mention of something like Yogsothoth, he could be an evil entity.”
Greely “He raved about cults all over the world being part of a grand conspiracy. Talked about the Cult of the Bloated Woman, Cult of the Red Tongue, Cult of the Dark Pharaoh. All these things.” Here he screamed in pain and “Please put me out of my misery.”
We promised to reduce him back to his salts, which Jon came back and did later as Theo had our copy of Bishop’s incantation inside the Necronomicon.
We found a book upon the table, made out of an odd leather that was surely human flesh. It was the journal of Douglas Timmons from prior to his death at the hands of Greely’s mob. The full story of his researches into resurrection spell, kidnapping and torturing of babies as sacrifices to Yogsothoth. It actually contains a resurrection spell within it! The debate will be should any mortal have such power.
The entries cover the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries. Then there is a gap until entries dated this year. It tells several times about getting in touch with NWI, who can lead him to who he’s looking for. Later, he reveals NWI as New World Incorporated. Will and myself both know of this NWI. They are one of the largest corporations in the world, manufacturing steam engines, technology researches, significant holdings in the west for ghostrock searches (Haelstrom Industries being an owned subsidiary), and munitions. They are an international corporation. American but with offices in many other countries including all major European countries, Brazil and China. They are known to be very secretive.
Does this madness and chaos truly reach so upward into society? Beyond cults and madmen? It is a chilling revelation that shakes the foundations of our entire world. Archimedes must be told of the connection!
Theo “Perhaps we should close the hatch while we are here so long, so it seems no one is here if the sorcerer returns.”
Jack made to lead the way and practicall ran straight into Dougas Timmons.
“Ye fools, give me back my journal or die!” He cast a spell at fast Jack, who was no more than a few feet in front of Douglas. Fast Jack tumbled away from the arcane blast, dodging it deftly and desparately with his amazing ability of quick reaction.
Jack “It’s all in the reflextes!”
He stood directly in the doorway, allowing us only one or 2 men on him at at time. Giving up the book and allowing his escape was not an option. Father Jon, a fanatical witchfinder and evil killer, drawing his cruciform sword made straight for the sorcerer with all the undue abandon of a Puritan Withfinder and almost missed his mark, but struck Timmons a cut. Jack sprung up to join Jon, quick-drawing his dagger but missing. The natural movement of melee brought the battle slightly more into the room. Timmons loosed another spell, and an impressive one it was. Moving slightly back, he became surrounded by numerous swirling sparks, striking both men close to him and turning the room noticeably more hot. At the opening of a shooting lane, Atwater, who had been readying to fire when giving an opportunity, hit with his revolver-10. At the hit, a spark shot out and struck Atwater on the shoulder-3. Theolonius, though quicker to react than myself, waited for me to fire a blast from the first barrel of my shotgun but miss the mark. Will fired his pistol-5, a spark striking him unerringly in the chest for-7, causing the brave but frail Will to knock over the table and take cover behind it. Finally, Theolonius sprung into action with a leaping roundhouse kick-5 (minimum damage). At the hit, Theo reeled back sweat instanty rolling from his face as he suffered from the extreme heat around the sorcerer-8. Jon changed to a more powerful 2 handed stroke, hitting-7 causing him to suffer a wave of heat as well-4. Jack missed again, and Douglas went for him. He enveloped Jack in his surrounding heat and sparks-15. At this point we all felt the heat-1 (Theo and Jon would later find the spell in research, being called ‘cloak of fire’. It hit the men closest to him the worse, Jack-6, Theo-3, Jon-4. At this point, Timmons looked dangerously healthy. Theolonius struck out-7, and stepped back to open a clear shooting lane: Atwater unloaded a shotgun-24, taking a spark-3. I struck with my second barrel-11. Suddenly the sparks popped out of existence and Timmons fell to the floor. In a rasping, struggling voice he began “Hail Yogsothoth, hail Cthulhu, hail Nyarlatho…” He didn’t get to finish, as Jon with one mighty cut beheaded him. A desperate fight this was, with Jack (exactly 0 fatigue left), and Theo (over half fatigue gone) quite worn out, besides Will having to take cover immediately. If he would have had any minions with him, someone would have died.
We came back with the salt incantation and salted both Greely and Timmons. We spread Greely in the river. Jon urninated with glee in the container holding D. Timmons’s salt, and shook it around before slowly dumping it into the river as well.
That was today. We shall now spend the night in Woonsocket. In the journal, we also found a reference to an order called the Knight’s of the Silver Twilight. That which we think was a medieval precursor to the present Silver Twilight. A web of connections abounds.
So, what exactly happened with Brian in his last days? Knowing from his father’s letter that Brian was involved in something evil, the theory must be thus: Brian had dug up his ancestor from the revolutionary times. This sorcerer either came back or was brought back to life by Brian in some way. This is the man who came home to NY during Brian’s visit. The sorcerer, once Brian’s use was over, killed Brian and assumed his form and identity through some magical means. Then he hired Walter to dig up Greeley so he could break the remains down into their essential salts. He did this solely because Greeley had been an enemy all those decades ago and he wanted him to suffer a fate worse than death.
I will have to tell Mrs. Timmons of her son’s death in person, of course. First thing in the morning I will go to NY to see her. When I return it will be back to Arkam for us.
We have plenty still on our plate regarding the Silver Twilight.
This John Scott: how old is he, is he the same man who’s home was attacked and burned down long ago?
What happened to the missing James Clark, member of the Twilight?
Who is Carl Stanford, and is he unnaturally old as well? What’s the dynamic between he and J. Scott?
The Bishop sighting at the Hall.
Now, the Knight’s mention in the journal, linked to a man who worshipped Yogsothoth.
Additionally, there is much to check out in this Mythos infested area. Wild rumor and suspicious stories that previously none would have believed before; but now, we mustn’t afford ourselves any such disbelief. Most of which I recall from my extensive devouring of newspapers, some Will knows from working for the news. Some Theolonius and Jon are privy to thanks to their Illuminati/Archimedes and Jesuit connection, respectively.
-Rumors of a fire cult under Kingsport
-grave robbing at Martin’s Beach
-the story of the old meteorite powder of Clark’s Corner
God willing, what we battled at Innsmouth will be worse than anything we encounter at these places. Our work seems endless. I worry often that we will burn out far before the enemy. May Archimedes find the other’s he seeks.