The winter had been unbelievably harsh that year in 1945, even more so for my family. My mother and younger sister who was five years old had fallen ill from pneumonia and had died from the complications. The roads were so blocked by snow drifts and fallen trees that my father was unable to make it into Jamestown to retrieve any medical supplies, despite several efforts on his part to do so. To make matters worse, the ground was frozen so hard from the cold and snowfall that my father was unable to give a proper burial to mother and my sister in our small family cemetery. As a result he was forced to find a deep snow drift close by and bury my poor sister and mother in it to keep them from decomposing too badly until the snows melt enough for us to travel into town to inform officials as to what had happened.

It was three more weeks since the passing of my mother and sister before the snows melted and the roads cleared enough for father and I to try and make trip into Jamestown. During this period my father had become increasingly more depressed and increasingly drunk. I tried to comfort my father as best as I could, but there were only so many things an eight year old boy could do and I was also very much affected by the loss of my mother and sister. So when the snows melted and we were able, we eagerly made the trip to Jamestown if for anything to get out of the small house we lived in for our immediate sanities sake.

My father immediately made it a point to drive to the sheriff’s office and inform him of what had happened, after which the sheriff questioned my father about the details of everything and said the he and the local doctor would arrive at our house the next day to examine the bodies. My father said he would be expecting them and the sheriff told him he was then free to go.

After we had left the Sheriff’s station my father wanted to visit Arnold Wright’s General Store that was across the street. Father wanted to stock up on food and supplies that had ran low due to us being shut in our house for so long without being able to travel anywhere. As we entered into the large sandstone building, I immediately ran to the giant wood stove that was located in the center of the store to warm my freezing hands along with some of the other townsfolk who had managed to find their way into town.

As I was standing there talking to some of the other townsfolk around the stove and to Mr. Wright sitting in his trademark rocking chair discussing the local gossip. Looking out through one of the many dingy windows in the store I noticed a beaten, worn down wooden wagon covered in all manner of strange oddities and wares pull up to the store. The wagon was drawn by a mule that looked like it had not seen a decent meal for the better part of a year. In fact, the mule looked so malnourished I could hardly believe that it could still be alive, much less be able to pull such a loaded down wagon. On top of the mule’s malnourishment, I also noticed its eyes had a cloudy look to them, when it suddenly dawned on me the beast was blind! Before I could notice anything more about the mysterious arrival I heard my father call me over to the counter to help him carry out the supplies and food stuffs he had purchased.

As we made our way out of the general store I was able to make out more about the strange wagon that had arrived. Calling the wagon old would have been a generous term. The wood the wagon was made of was worm eaten and rotten in many places. Several spokes in the wheels of the wagon were broke or missing and the wooden roof of the wagon appeared to have several places crudely patched to keep out the elements. What made the wagon truly stand out however was what it was covered with. The sides of the wagon had all manner of strange and odd things hanging from it. I saw what appeared to be some sort of a strange, octopi headed creature with a humanoid body preserved in some sort of greenish fluid in a mason jar, there were numerous scroll cases hanging from the wagon with some sort of strange language and runes engraved upon them, odd jewelry hung from the edges of the roof that swayed back and forth in the wind. There was even an old map that was unfurled and tacked to the side of the wagon displaying what appeared to be the local region. Except for Jamestown (where I was located) and Rugby which were located on the map, the other locations such as Witch Hill Cove, Skullbone Chapel and Pittman’s Rock, among others I didn’t recognize.

When we passed the wagon and came around to its backside I heard a voice call out from behind me. Turning, I saw one of the most frightening persona’s I had ever seen. Standing on wooden steps leading into the wagon’s interior was a bent and twisted old man robed in a moth eaten and dirty brown shawl. Most of his face was covered and in dirty white gauze, but what I could see of his face was covered in pustules and boils and his eyes held the same cloudy gaze as that of the mules. Seeing he had my attention, the man introduced himself as Dezmer Mullins and that he wanted to show me the many wonders he had acquired during his many travels inside of his covered wagon.

As appalled as I was by Dezmer’s appearance, for some strange reason I was also drawn by the mysteries that the wagon might have held. Blame it on the wondrous imagination of an eight year old boy’s mind and poor judgment, or just a quick whim but I found myself being drawn towards the wagon. Thinking back on that moment; I shudder with what I can remember from being inside of that stuffy, foul smelling pig sty on wheels. I do not know why my father even let me inside of that abominable place, maybe he lost track of me while putting away our supplies into the truck, maybe his grief over mother and my sister made him distracted, maybe he was still drunk from the day before. I do not know. I do know that before I realized what was happening I was walking towards the outstretched, wart covered arm of Dezmer Mullins ushering me inside of his damnable wagon of wonders.

Once inside I noticed the interior of the small wagon was dimly lit by several candles placed in various spots in the wagon. If I thought the objects on the outside of wagon bordered on the strange and fantastic, they paled in comparison to what I beheld on the inside. I saw shelves lined with all manner of ancient books and texts, there were strange skulls of creatures I could not even begin to identify hanging from the ceiling, vials and jars of strange fluids were scattered all about the wagon.

In the far corner of the wagon was what appeared to be a bird cage hanging by a chain from the ceiling but instead of the cage containing a bird, there instead was some sort of oily albino skinned, winged creature that somewhat resembled a giant centipede with tufts of black slimy hair sprouting out of its body in various places. The creature upon seeing me enter the wagon immediately flew into a terrible frenzy and made some sort of horrific shrieking noise that I can only compare to a piece of metal being raked down a chalkboard. Upon hearing the creature, Dezmer went over to one of the vials of liquid that was scattered about the wagon, unstoppered it and proceeded to drip several drops of the brackish fluid into the creature’s mandibled mouth. Which the creature received in what appeared to be some sort of ecstatic joy, for immediately after digesting the liquid the beast calmed down and slinked to the bottom of the cage without another sound. Though it continued to glare at me with its red, glowing pinpricks for eyes and I couldn’t help but believe that the creature held some sort of sinister intelligence.

In the middle of the wagon there was a battered wooden table with two chairs sitting opposite each other. In the middle of the table sat a lit, deformed and melted white candle that gave off a strange, sweet smell I assumed was meant to counteract the horrible smell that permeated the wagons interior. It didn’t work. In a circle around the candle were twelve facedown cards whose backs were illustrated with strange symbols and constellations of stars. Dezmer instructed me to sit with my back to the door of the wagon and he sat in the chair opposite of me.

Dezmer began by explaining that each of the cards represented one of the twelve months of the modern calendar year and that I was a VERY lucky little boy. When I asked him why I was so lucky, his cloudy eyes took on some kind of sinister gleam and he smiled reveling black, crooked and broken teeth. Dezmer went on to tell me that once every year he is instructed by his “masters” to give one special child a gift.

When I then asked why I was special, Dezmer then smiled even wider and said, “You have suffered a recent loss have you not? A loss that by all accounts is not something most little boys would have to endure. Does that not make you special and unique? And what better way for an old man to make a sad child feel better than with a free gift in your time of grief to take your mind off your troubles?”

All of this seemed very strange to me but being just eight years old I still did not realize what kind of circumstance or jeopardy I really could have been in. His talk of his “masters”, the fact he knew I had lost my mother and sister without me ever mentioning it, the sheer fact that my father had not come searching for me and the outright bizarre wagon I was in just did not register in my then adolescent mind. So there I sat, listening to this bent, broken and boil covered man in awe and rapt attention.

Dezmer told me to claim my gift and to see what my gift would be; I was to choose one of the twelve cards on the table. The card representing January was the card closest to Dezmer in the twelve o’clock position and each month followed in a clockwise pattern. He told me that there was no restriction on what card I choose. My decision could be based on the month that contained my birthday or I could just randomly pick any card on a whim.

So I sat there several minutes looking at the strange, worn and oddly decorated card backs. Then, for no particular reason, I reached out and picked the card representing the month of March. Dezmer told me to flip it over and show him what I had picked. Flipping the card revealed an archaic illustration of a shadowy figure in a forest holding a set of odd looking chimes.

Upon seeing what I had picked, Dezemer’s milky, clouded eyes took on some sort of strange glimmer. He told me I had picked the “Chimes of the Stranger” card, a most special and powerful gift. Dezmer gave a brief history of the origin of the stranger and the chimes, telling me that the stranger was a herald of a long forgotten god and would visit special people who were in dire need or had suffered great loss and give unto them the Gift of the Chimes.

When I asked what was so special about the chimes, Dezmer told me that when the chimes blew and gave off their music the person who owned them would be granted the one wish they most desired at the time. However, the chimes would only sound when the owner most needed or desired something. I sat and thought a moment then asked Dezmer if the stranger was like Santa Clause. Hearing this Dezmer smiled again revealing rotten teeth and said, “You could think of him that way.” Then Dezmer gave a soft chuckle as if he was secretly holding back some vital secret or knowledge, and then added “But you don’t have to be good for him to visit you.”

Before I could respond to the strange statement, I heard a furious clanging at the wagon door behind me and suddenly the door crashed in and my father rushed in and grabbed me, spat curses at Dezmer who just sat and laughed as the strange creature in the cage roared back to life in a frenzy at my father’s sudden entrance. I remember being quickly hauled out of the wagon, seeing the sheriff called over to the general store and running Dezmer out of town and me getting a severe thrashing once I got back to my home.

Later that evening while sitting in my room without supper, I reached into my inside jacket pocket and pulled out the “Chimes of the Stranger” card that somehow I had managed to hold onto during all the chaos that had ensued after my father entered Dezmer Mullins wagon earlier that day. Looking at the card, I suddenly noticed that the stranger no longer held the chimes. In fact he no longer held anything at all; his hand was outstretched and empty. Suddenly, I heard something banging on the wall outside of my bedroom window. Opening the window, I saw hanging below the window sill, a crude set of dented, rusted, misshapen metal chimes blowing soundlessly in the winter wind.

II

After I had discovered the chimes I decided not to tell my father for fear of him thinking I was crazy, so I took them and hid them in my dresser drawers where I soon forgot them due to the next several weeks being very hectic. The next day the sheriff and the local doctor arrived at the house and examined the bodies of my mother and sister and determined that their causes of death were natural and lawful. After which we were left to the task of planning the funeral and burial.

The funeral for my mother and sister was attended by only myself, father and a few local townspeople whom my father knew. I remember looking in the casket at my mother in those last few hours and thinking how beautiful she still looked even in death and how her hair, with its golden curls, fell over her delicate shoulders as she lay peacefully in her final rest. My sister was no less splendid, taking after mother; she had the same beautiful, golden hair that ran down to the middle of her back. I remember crying very much during the funeral and feeling a loss I had never experienced before as the minister recited bible passages talking about the glories of heaven and the peace that my mother and sister now enjoyed.

I remember seeing father sitting beside me with a blank expression on his face and though I was only eight, I could tell he had all the appearances of a man that had something die inside of him. He looked like he could have passed for a corpse himself so pale was his face.

After the funeral and everyone had given their condolences, my father and I made our way home. Upon arriving at our house, father went directly into the kitchen and found his bottle of liquor and began drinking heavily. When I tried to talk to him he yelled at me and struck out and hit me across my cheek telling me to shut up and go to my room. Running upstairs crying, I ran into my room, slammed the door and fell onto my bed sobbing. I remember thinking through the tears and pain how I desperately wished mother and sister were not dead and how I had something to remember them by.

It was at this moment that I heard the distinct sound of chimes ringing as if in a gentle breeze coming from by dresser drawers. I got up from my bed and walked over to my dresser where I suddenly remembered storing the rusty, bent chimes. Upon pulling open the drawer there laid not the bent, rusty and useless chimes I had found weeks prior, but a magnificent set of golden fluted chimes connected by strings of what looked like silver spider silk. Though I could tell the sound did indeed come from the drawer where the chimes lay, the chimes themselves did not move. Gently reaching into the drawer, I picked up the chimes and turned around back towards my bed staring at them in awe and wonderment.

It was then I noticed my closet door slowly opening across the bedroom on its own accord. Drawing my attention from the chimes I looked perplexedly at my closet whose interior was dark and murky. For what seemed like several minutes a strange silence hung in the air when suddenly I saw a naked, slender foot emerge from the depths of the closet and take a step towards me. It was then that the forms of my mother and sister suddenly materialized from the inside of my closet! So astonished was I by this that I dropped the chimes onto the floor, but still they continued to make their melodious music as if nothing had changed.

It was then that I began to cry anew and I remember my mother telling me not to be afraid and that she and my sister had come back because I had wished it and the chimes had granted my wish. I began to cry even harder and I asked if they were going to stay because I missed them so much. That’s when mother told me that they could not stay for long but her and my sister were here to give me something to remember them by, just like I had wished for. I begged them to please don’t leave me again but they insisted that their time was short and they wanted to give me their keepsake before time was up. Mother told me I needed to be brave now and cherish this short time and asked if I was ready to receive their gift. Realizing time was short and eager for something to relieve my grief I eagerly nodded my head yes.

It was then mother said that the chimes knew how I always thought her and my sisters hair was always so beautiful and as a gift to remember them by this would be what I would receive. It was then that both her and my sister reached up with their hands and grabbed a handful of their hair and proceeded to rip their hair out by the roots in bloody clumps and leaving horrid red dripping patches on their scalp. Both of them laughing maniacally, they offered me their “gift” with outstretched, bloody hands. I remember screaming over and over again and trying to get as far away from them as possible. I quickly turned and ran from my room in terror. Down the stairs I ran screaming past my drunken father, out the front door, into the nearby woods. I was found, so I was told later, curled into a ball on the forest floor clutching a set of rusty chimes and sobbing uncontrollably.

III

The following weeks after I was found in the forest, I was taken away from my father and placed into Moccasin Bend Mental Institution under state care. Authorities claimed that they saw the bruise left on my cheek from where my father had struck me and that coupled with the trauma of losing both my mother and sister must have sent me over the edge. They also left the chimes in my possession since they concluded I must have for some reason clung to them as some sort of “comfort” device to help me cope with all of the events that had transpired.

I didn’t try to refute any of these claims due to the fact that for the first two weeks following the ordeal I was in such a state of mental detachment I was unable to speak coherently of anything. After I was finally able to put reasonable thoughts together in my fractured psyche to finally speak and tell the doctors what I had experienced, I was quickly deemed unsuitable to return to society and it was recommended I stay institutionalized so I could be better evaluated.

The first several months I did not help myself being released anytime soon because I kept trying to convince the doctors the reality of what I had experienced. This only helped increase the time I had to stay in the mental facility. So much in fact that it was deemed the state should take over my primary care until I turned the legal age of eighteen. The doctors did however, after hearing my story, deem the chimes something I should not have and removed them from my possession.

As the first year of my confinement was drawing to a close I had began to realize if I ever wanted to leave here I was going to have to watch how I answered the doctors when they came to interview me. Due to how I responded in my previous sessions however the doctors suspected I was lying and so was doubly cautious.

I will note here for several years I never again had any incidents involving the chimes, even though there were times I had wished for things through the years. I eventually assumed that everything was now in the past and even began to think that perhaps I really did indeed imagine everything that had happened to me that day of my mother’s and sister’s funeral. That is until Dr. Desmond Westbrook arrived to take over my therapy.

Dr. Westbrook was a new addition to the medical staff at Moccasin Bend and apparently had a reputation for extreme treatments with patients who believed in “wild fantasies” as he so termed their stories. So when Dr. Westbrook took over my sessions he looked at me as a prime candidate for his treatments. So for the next several months I was subjected to things that I would rather not discuss here but only in the fact that it only served to fuel a hatred for a man that I had come to believe was nothing more than a sadist.

It was after one of Dr. Westbrook’s brutal sessions one night as I lay sobbing in my cell that I remember wishing with a vehemence that some sort of grisly end that was comparable to what is treatments were would be visited upon the vile doctor. It was then that I heard a sound that I had not heard since the day of the funerals for my mother and sister. It was the melodious sound of the chimes ringing as clear as if they were next to me in my cell.

I sat up suddenly when I heard the chimes, then with a suddenness I began to laugh with joy and terror as I realized what it meant. The end of Dr. Westbrook and his horrendous treatments visited upon me at Moccasin Bend.

IV

The following morning I awoke in my cell and noticed next to me on my sleeping mat the rusty chimes the doctors had taken away from me several years earlier. Before I could wonder why the chimes had mysteriously reappeared, I heard someone outside my cell unlocking the door to enter. I quickly hid the chimes under my pillow and sat up as a group of doctors entered my cell.

I was informed that I was now being placed under the care of a group of psychologists and that Dr. Westbrook would no longer be overlooking my treatments. When I asked what happened to Dr. Westbrook my question was ignored and I was told that the decision had been made by the medical board to change my treatment procedures to more traditional methods.

The next several years passed uneventful. I was treated well by my caregivers and I cooperated with the doctors and their treatments. I was sixteen when I was visited by Moccasin Bend’s Head Director and Chaplin. I was informed that my father had passed away earlier in the week, apparently from over drinking and was found early one morning lying sprawled in a weed covered ditch about a mile from home. The director expressed his condolences and the Chaplin offered a private prayer with me if I so wished. I declined the prayer request and just asked to be left alone.

After I was told of my father’s death I don’t remember feeling sad or sorrowful. After all, it had been eight years since I had seen my father and he had never visited since I had been institutionalized. I went over to my sleeping pad and removed the chimes from under my pillow and held them up and looked at them. I guess it was out of a sense of duty or some kind of need to feel wanted but I wished that I could see my father one last time. I didn’t wish out of desperation or any real need to see my father. I believe I did it because of some morbid fascination to see the chimes work again despite the horrific results of their work the past two times their music rang.

So there I was, hanging the chimes from my fingers wishing to see my father one last time. For several minutes I stood there looking at the rusty, beaten chimes swaying soundlessly in my grasp. There was no music, no transformation from rusted pipes into golden fluted chimes, just useless rusted chimes.

Shrugging, I walked over to the barred window in my cell, looked at the chimes one last time and causally tossed the chimes through the bars.

V

I was released from Moccasin Bend two years later on my eighteenth birthday. I returned to my hometown and my family home because I was at a loss as to where else to go. Upon arriving at my old home I was greeted to an abysmal scene. The house had fallen into a horrid state of disrepair since my father’s death and only the living room, kitchen and the master bedroom remained serviceable for use or habitation.

Having no money or savings I was forced to pick up odd jobs around town during the day and use whatever left over earnings I had left towards repairing the house. The one room I let stay the way it was, was my childhood bedroom where I had my first experience with the foul work of the chimes. As soon I was able I took a hammer, nails and wooden planks and boarded up the door determined to never enter the room again.

For the next several years I slowly but gradually got my home back in good repair to where most of it was back to its original or better condition. I must admit though, the years after being released from Moccasin Bend and returning to home had been very lonely. My home was not close to town, I had no neighbors in close proximity and most of the townsfolk tended to avoid me when I did travel into town since most of them knew my past and considered me someone best left alone.

That was until I met a young lady named Mary Rose Rupert. I was in town at Arnold Wright’s General Store picking up supplies when Mary walked in. I was immediately struck by her tall slender form, delicate features and long flowing golden hair that fell below her shoulders in a radiant elegant beauty. I overheard her talking to Mr. Wright and several other patrons of the store about getting directions to the Rupert Family Cemetery and how she had just moved here from Arkham, Massachusetts to claim an inheritance estate from her recently deceased uncle Albert Howard Rupert who lived by the cemetery.

Overhearing her conversation, I walked over and introduced myself to Mary and told her that I knew of the old Rupert House and that I passed it by every time I came into and returned from town. Mary said she would be grateful if I could give her ride to the house when I was ready to leave the general store. I told her I would be glad to and in a few minutes we were on the road heading towards the Rupert Family Cemetery.

As we made our way to the cemetery I tried to make small talk with Mary and ask her if she had ever been to this part of the country before. She told me once when she was a young girl she had visited her uncle’s estate with her parents. Mary said she was also tired of the New England weather and was ready to live in another part of the country and the inheritance of her uncle’s estate gave her the financial freedom to make the move and readily relocate somewhere else.

I asked Mary what kind of work she did in Massachusetts and she told me she was working part time at an antique store that dealt with esoteric religious relics as she finished up her graduate degree in teaching. She told me she had just graduated when she got word that her uncle had just passed away and decided to move to Tennessee and pursue a teaching career here in Fentress County.

It was at this time we arrived at the cemetery. From the road you could see the cemetery resting on its lonely hill with its sparsely spaced headstones. Coming off the main road, winding around the cemetery and up a hill behind the cemetery was the dirt road leading up to Albert Rupert’s estate. I asked Mary if she needed me to drive the rest of the way and she said no this was far enough and she would like to walk the rest of the way to look at the scenery. With that I helped Mary unload the few things she had brought with her and wished her a good day.

As I was getting back inside my truck Mary walked over to the driver side door and asked if I would want to come by at the end of the week for dinner so she could thank me for giving her a ride. After being so isolated from society for so long due to my confinement at Moccasin Bend I didn’t know how to properly respond to this beautiful woman who just invited me to do something. I could feel my face get hot and I tried to stammer some kind of response but all my words came out in some kind of incoherent jumble. Mary seeing my embarrassment gave me a lovely smile and told me that dinner would be at seven o’clock Friday evening and she would love to see me then, with that she turned and made her way up the hill to her new home.

I just silently sat there in my truck, my heart racing, feeling happy for the first time since my childhood.

VI

The following months after that first dinner and meeting, Mary and I stayed in regular contact with each other. I would give her rides into town or help her fix things in her newly inherited home. In return she prepared me home cooked meals, would visit at least once a week to say hello, keep me company for a few hours of the day and as she called it, “Try and give my house a woman’s touch.”

I came to realize that was one of things that made Mary a special type of person. I know there were several people in town who tried to dissuade Mary from associating with me and would tell her stories, true or untrue, to get her to break off any kind of contact with me. Despite all of this though it never seemed to affect how Mary treated me or how she wished to associate with me in public. Mary never tried to push me to talk about my past too much or seemed to look down on me in any way. She always said though if I ever wished to talk about anything with her I could and she would never judge me. I felt inside I had truly met someone I could consider a true friend.

One day Mary arrived at my house with a large cake she had baked. I knew it wasn’t my birthday and I asked her what the cake was for. She smiled her beautiful smile and exclaimed, “You don’t remember? Today is the one year anniversary of when we first met each other when I first arrived into town!!!” I was somewhat taken aback that she would remember such a thing and before I could respond she leaned over and lightly kissed me on the cheek and said, “Happy anniversary!” and laughed. I laughed too, gave Mary a hug and we went inside and shared the cake she had made.

Sitting at my kitchen table eating cake Mary said she would like me to come by and visit that evening so she could make dinner for me like she did when we first met in to celebrate the occasion. I told her I would be glad to and would be there around seven o’clock. With that Mary took one last bite of cake, hugged me; and smiling told me she would see me at seven.

Later that evening I arrived at Mary’s house and after dinner we were sitting in the living room listening to the evening news on the radio. We sat and talked for an hour or so with me asking Mary how she liked living in Tennessee, how her teaching job at the high school was going and so on. Eventually I could see it was getting late and I could hear thunder growing in the distance. Before the storm could hit I told Mary thanks for the wonderful dinner and that I thought it was a good time for me to go.

As I was making my way to the door, Mary stopped me. She asked if she could have a word with me for a moment and that she had something important to ask me. I said of course and that she could ask me anything she wanted. We went back over and sat on the couch and Mary said the past year she has got to know me she has seen times where I seem really sad and alone. Mary said it bothered her to see me this way and that as my friend she was worried about me. She said she never pressed me to talk much about myself or my past but that she was concerned and would like to listen if I cared to talk.

I looked at Mary for what seemed like a long time feeling the blood rush to my face in embarrassment. Mary reassured me everything was ok and that I didn’t have anything to fear. So, I began to tell my story to Mary. I told her about my mother, sister and father. I told her about the strange Dezmer Mullins, his wagon, the strange game he had me play and the chimes I had received. I told her about the strange events taking place after hearing the chimes ring. I told her about my confinement at Moccasin Bend until I was eighteen and the horrible treatments from Dr. Westbrook. I told her how alone I have been my entire life, how I feel I really don’t belong anywhere and how I’m scared to believe that anyone would ever care about me.

Throughout the entire telling of my story, Mary never once interrupted me or looked at me in disbelief or horror at what I was telling her. The only interruption was when the thunderstorm came though and knocked out the electricity and Mary had to go and light candles for light. When I was finished talking I looked at Mary, with a worried expression on my face, expecting her to tell me to get out of her life and never speak to her again or stay away from her.

Mary just sat there with a sincere, sad smile on here face looking at me with her warm caring eyes. Then she reached over and hugged me tightly around the neck and told me how sorry she was about everything that had happened. When Mary released me from the hug she sat back and told me that she cared very much for me and that she would always be there for me if I ever needed anything. She took my hand in hers and told me that she could see the good person in me and that she was very grateful to have a good, caring person like me in her life.

I knew she meant every thing she said and I knew I had found someone who genuinely cared about me. Whether she believed my entire story or thought it was from the overworked mind of someone who had experienced a traumatic event, it didn’t matter to her. Something inside of her found the need to reach out to me and show some understanding and care for someone desperately needing it.

I remember sitting there looking at Mary in the candlelight, with her golden hair flowing down over her shoulders, smiling warmly at me with her beautiful blue eyes shining warmly in the candlelight. I remember looking on the face of someone that cared for me for the first time since my childhood and I remember wishing that I could remember Mary and this moment for the rest of my life.

That’s when I heard the ringing of chimes.

VII

Everything had frozen. Nothing moved. The grandfather clock had stopped ticking with its pendulum stopped in mid motion. The flames on the candles had ceased to flicker and appeared to look like some sort of frozen flame. A lightning strike had been caught in mid flash which illuminated the entire house in a constant eerie blue glow.
Worst of all, there sat Mary on the couch across from me with that exact look I had wished to remember for all time…frozen on her face.

Mary didn’t move, didn’t flinch or blink, and she didn’t respond to my cries or pleads to move or wake up. She didn’t even appear to be breathing. She just sat there, motionless while I cried.

All sound had also ceased to exist except for the ringing of the chimes I continued to hear from somewhere in the house. I finally managed to rise from the couch as some sort of primal rage rose in me and I began tearing through the house looking for those infernal evil chimes. I had went through the entire house and still I was unable to find where the chimes were located. I went to go back in the living room where Mary sat and there the chimes were. Hovering over Mary’s head, the golden fluted, silver stringed chimes spun, ringing it’s melodic but accursed melody.

Rage overtook me again and I rushed forward determined to destroy the evil artifact that had taken one of the few moments of happiness from me! I grabbed for the chimes and as soon as I came into contact with them they turned to the old, rusted and bent chimes of before and fell to the ground. This caused me to overreach and I stumbled past Mary and where the chimes had been; and I fell into a table where several candles were sitting.

Instantly everything seemed to return to normal, the lightning finished its strike, the clock began to tick again and all other noises seemed to return. The candles fell to the floor and rolled under the old draperies hanging in the living room window quickly igniting them. I quickly tried to put out the flames but they spread so fast the fire was quickly out of control.

Turning to Mary, hoping that the spell of the chimes had also been broken on her, I went to try and get her to flee the house with me. Upon seeing Mary however, horror quickly dawned on me. There she sat, frozen as she was before with her beautiful smile and caring eyes, staring vacantly out into space. I began to cry and sob but was determined not to let Mary burn up in the flames. As I went to lift her off the couch I discovered that she was firmly rooted in place for some reason and no amount effort on my part was able to budge her or the couch an inch!

Despair quickly overtook me and with the flames closing in I don’t remember what happened next. I was found the next day outside of Mary’s burned down home lying in a curled up ball sobbing madly and drenched from the previous nights rain. Clutched in my hand was an old, worn and ancient card with a picture of a shadowy figure holding a set of chimes on some far off planet.

I was told Mary’s burned body was found inside the ruins of her house and I was held and tried for murder. I had tried to tell the judge and my lawyer what had happened but all it served was to keep me from execution in the electric chair. I was deemed unfit to stand trial due to insanity and was condemned for life in Moccasin Bend and placed in the criminally insane ward.

That was many years ago and now I’m an old man in the final years of my life. I never heard the ringing of the chimes again no matter how desperately I had wished for something the following years after Mary’s death. To this day that fateful evening is still burned into my memory as if it was yesterday, the memory of Mary’s beautiful smile and her warm caring eyes; frozen and staring off into emptiness.

I

It was the last week of the semester before summer break at Miskatonic University in 1937. I majored in folklore/ancient theology and was preparing for my finals of what was to be my final semester before entering the graduate program in the fall.

It was during this final week of studies that I was approached by a individual named William Bailey. I was in my dormitory studying for my final exams when I heard a knock at my door. When I answered, there stood before me the man who introduced himself as William Bailey. He was a tall, almost emaciated looking, young man with pale blue eyes and even paler skin and almost white blond hair. I could tell from the looks of this man that he did not appear to be from Arkham, Massachusetts or really anywhere from the New England region whatsoever. By his apparel I could tell he more than likely did not come from a background of high society. While his clothing was of decent quality I could tell they had seen better times. His brown vest was threadbare in places and his button up white shirt had places that were also worn thin and showing yellow discoloration from age. His slacks, while nice, I could tell were old and the once dark brown they used to be had faded quite a bit.

When I asked William how I could help him, he went on to explain that we have had several classes together and that he also shared the same interests in ancient legends and religions as I. He also told me that he had a most interesting tale to share with me that may be of some help to me entering the graduate program and even later with my career.

Now, before I relate the tale that William Bailey told me, I must first say that prior to William approaching me in my room I can not recall ever meeting or seeing William in any of my classes or on the campus of the university at any point during my college career. I thought with such an odd appearance that William had, I would easily remember such a person, and after I had stated as such to William, he reassured me we had been in several classes together and that he tended to prefer to stay in the back and try not to stand out so much. He even said that one class we had shared together in particular was Folktales and Myths of the Southern United States. William said he noticed my enrollment in this course, and said that he had a tale that I would be most interested in.

William told me that he knew of an obscure story from a small rural town located in the hills of Tennessee. What made this story so unique was the fact that so many of the local residents of this small town still widely feared the power of this legend.

When I asked William what this folktale was, he told me it revolved around the locale of a place called Witch Hill Cove. I told William that in all of my studies I have never come across any mention of a tale or location called by any such name. William then proceeded to tell me that it was a very obscure story and that only those who were raised around that region of the country really knew about. When I asked William how he knew of the story, he told me he had actually grown up in the small community called Jamestown, outside of which Witch Hill Cove rested.

William then proceeded to tell me the legend of the Cove and the reason why the locals are so fearful of the place. William told me that the town of Jamestown rested on what is call the Cumberland Plateau and is surrounded by dense woodland and forested hills and mountains. The Cove itself is located in a particularly secluded area outside the main town itself. William related to me while the region itself was mainly woodland and hilly. The area in which the Cove rested was somewhat of an anomaly for the region. While Jamestown itself rested on a plateau there are roads and forgotten trails that lead down the side of the plateau and into ever deeper forests and unfamiliar territories which most sane people tended to avoid.

It is down one of these lost trails that William told me lead to an area called South Fork and this is where Witch Hill Cove resides. However, instead of the Cove resting in forested terrain like much of the region, about one square mile before you arrive at the Cove is barren with little or no vegetation or wildlife, and all around is nothing but blackened rock and mud. The Cove itself is surrounded by sheer cliff faces that stretch high into the sky and has only one entry point which is where a stream that runs into the Cove empties its contents. Located at the center of the Cove is where the supposed “hill” rests. William describes the hill more as a large barren mound of blackish mud and rock without any trace of life, except for an ancient and twisted dead tree that now sits at the top of the hill. From this tree William tells me is where strange objects and sacrifices were hanged during the pagan rituals that used to be held at the Cove.

When I asked William if he had any proof of these objects or sacrifices he reached inside his overcoat and produced one of the oddest things I had ever seen. What William held in his hand appeared to be made of a wood I had never seen before. The object itself was spherical but imperfect in the sense that it seemed hand carved and had not been smoothed or sanded into a perfect orb. What was truly peculiar about the object was, though it seemed to be made of wood, it seemed to be pseudo-transparent but hazy. In the center of the object there seemed to be a shadowy silhouette that moved and pulsed. The more I tried to peer and see what this shadow was the more it seemed to blur and loose form.

I asked William if I could hold the orb which he readily handed over. As soon as I had it in my hand however I nearly dropped it. I was shocked at how heavy and dense it felt. By appearance the object looked like it could weigh no more than a pound but once I held it, it felt as if it weighed fifteen pounds or more!

Seeing my surprise William explained that it was indeed made from wood but a very rare type only found around Witch Hill Cove itself. When I asked William more about the properties of the wood and what significance the sphere held in conjunction with the ceremonies held at the Cove, he became very vague and nervous sounding. William stated maybe it would be best if he went ahead and related in more detail the legend and history of Witch Hill Cove instead.

William told me that the Cove was discovered by frontiers men in the mid-1700’s, as the westward expansion pushed beyond the New England colonies. The first written record of Witch Hill Cove comes from the journal of one named Benjamin King, who was one of the pioneers that discovered the strange area. William produced a copied manuscript of this journal entry which he let me read. The entry read as follows…

…as we entered that barren Cove that ill fated night of March 11, 1757, myself and the rest of our small party which included three other men noticed right away that this Cove was not natural and seemed to hold a sinister presence. One mile before the stream we were following emptied out into the Cove, all plant life ceased to exist and all the ground seemed to only consist of some strange black/red mud and black rock.

When Abraham Gernt knelt and took a handful of the strange mud in his hand to examine, he noticed it was extremely sticky and found it very difficult to remove from his hands and that it left a blackish red stain upon his skin. Abraham also noticed that the black rocks strewn about the landscape tended to be very sharp and could easily cut our skin as easily as the keenest knife edge.

The Cove itself was fairly large and had a circumference of roughly fifty yards around. The water in the Cove was very shallow, only about ankle deep. All around the Cove except where the stream entered were nothing but sheer cliff walls that raised to what seemed to be hundreds of feet into the air and disappearing into the night.

As we neared the center of the Cove the light from our lanterns revealed a large mound rising from the murky waters. The mound appeared to be made from the same blackish/red substance that Abraham had examined earlier. At the top of the mound was what appeared to be an old, gnarled and twisted tree of some sort that had long since withered and died.

By this point everyone in our party with the exception of Abraham had a very uneasy feeling about the place. Abraham then said he wished to examine the top of the mound more closely despite all of our objections, of which he refused to adhere to.

So as the three of us waited at the base of the foul mound, Abraham proceeded to climb to the top. I noticed that Abraham seemed to be having difficulty making any progress. It was as if the ground itself was trying to anchor him in place and impede his movement. Also, I noticed what appeared to be dark forms of shadow just outside our lanterns light moving about.

By the time Abraham reached the top of the mound he was thoroughly covered in the vile black/red mud and it seemed he could barely move at all. Abraham called down after several minutes and told us upon close inspection of the tree, he observed several strange objects hanging from its limbs and what appeared to be animal carcasses. Though I cannot seem to remember when it began, I noticed that now I heard what sounded like some form of chanting off in the distance from outside of the Cove.

By this time the others and myself were in a state of panic and wishing to depart this unholy place in due haste, but Abraham seemed like he was transfixed atop of the mound and none of our pleas seemed to break him from his trance. All the while the chants seemed to be drawing closer. Also a foul smelling breeze had started blowing into the Cove from the entrance and I could hear the objects in the tree blowing back and forth and caught a glimpse of what appeared be some human appendages hanging from one the limbs! Still, despite our pleas Abraham still seemed totally oblivious that we or any of his surroundings still existed.

I then decided that we were going to have to leave Abraham to his fate or the rest of us might well share it. Then as if some power knew we were preparing to leave, a strange eldritch light seemed to be seeping out from within the mound and illuminating the entire cove in an eerie, greenish glow.

The two others and I were now running in a horror struck panic for the exit of the evil Cove. As I ran, I took a chance and glanced back towards Abraham, and what I would give to take that action back and wipe that horrible memory from my mind. For what I saw, no good man who has served God and his Holy Son faithfully should ever have to endure.

As I looked back upon that God forsaken mound and at Abraham who stood atop of it, I could see the whole mound now aglow in the sickly green light that now illuminated the entire Cove. From this light I could clearly see Abraham and what devilry now consumed him.

The strange black/red mud that covered Abraham now seemed somehow alive. For I now noticed that it seemed to flow up from the mound, over Abraham’s feet and had risen all the way to his wais. Behind Abraham there seemed to be a cloaked spectral phantasm floating with its arms thrown high and its shrouded head thrown back as if in some blasphemous revelry.

Then, to add to my shock, a strange amber glow appeared between the specters outstretched hands and started circling in a maelstrom of chaos. It was then that Abraham unleashed one of the most horrific screams my mortal ears had ever heard. I dare not believe that a soul condemned to the most dreadful punishments of Hell could ever release such a sound of anguish. It was then that a beam of blood red hue shot out of the circling maelstrom floating above Abraham and struck him square in the back.

Abraham’s whole body then jerked with such a force I was sure his spine must have snapped! It was then that his whole body seemed to be drawn toward the hellish amber vortex, except Abraham was still held fast by the mud he was anchored in. Again Abraham unleashed another hell spawned scream as his skin began to be pulled away from his body into the maelstrom! It was then I also noticed a dark, shadow form exiting Abraham’s body and being drawn into the vortex as well.

It was at this moment that my poor mind could handle no more of the horror upon that accursed hill and I remember screaming the scream of a man that had crossed the threshold of sanity.

I remember very little after that except running through the night trying to reach the settlement of Jamestown and the safety of civilization. I was told later after the two of us had made it back to the settlement, I say two because I was also told that somewhere during our flight from the Cove, Franklin York disappeared into the night never to be seen again and when I had reached Jamestown I had fallen unconscious for several days.

When I awoke I had recounted my story to the council heads of the settlement. Many of which thought I was mad if not for the other survivor to back up my claim. The council of the settlement decided that exploration of the Cove and that part of the land should be avoided until a better prepared party could investigate it further.

The council are fools if they think they can claim that land from whatever evil holds sway to it. Many of the settlers now believe my story. They now hear distant chants spoken in unknown pagan tongues in the distance and when the wind is blowing in just the right direction they can smell a foul odor rise from the direction of the Cove.

The settlers have come to name that hell pit of a place Witch Hill Cove, and it has come to be avoided.

As I finished reading the journal entry I looked up at William in astonishment. I stated surely this account must be exaggerated and could not be true. William then told me that accounts from other townsfolk of that era who discussed the Cove with the two survivors claimed their story never wavered or changed. William also told me that the pioneer that had wrote the journal entry slowly slipped into madness through the years until one day he simply just disappeared.

I asked William if there were any other accounts as bizarre or strange as this one. He told me that there were no other firsthand accounts because the Cove was avoided by the settlers after they heard the story and started seeing indirect signs themselves of what was related in the survivor’s tale. However, after the town was established, Indian traders would arrive in the town to barter for goods and would tell strange stories about the Cove. They would tell of how the land was cursed and was slowly feeding off the surrounding life and how there was something unnatural under the Cove that would consume the human soul for sustenance.

The Indians also told of some degenerate outcast tribe that worshipped at the Cove and offered sacrifice to whatever lay under it. William also told me it was through these Indian traders that he had come into possession of the strange object he had shown me.

As I sat in my room and considered all these things, William asked if I would be interested in travelling to Jamestown and investigating the local legend. I knew this would be a great opportunity for me to look into an obscure folk legend of American history and would make an excellent essay for my acceptance into the Miskatonic graduate program.

So I told William that I was greatly interested in investigating Witch Hill Cove and that I would make preparations to travel to Tennessee after I had finished with my exams. With that William bid me farewell and said he would visit me in about a week to make plans for our trip.

II

A week after I had finished with my exams William returned to my dormitory and asked if I had made preparations for the trip to Tennessee. I told him that I had packed all the necessary clothing and study material and that the only thing left to do was to purchase a rail ticket from the local train station.

William then produced two tickets and said that transportation was taken care of and the train would be departing from the station at eight a.m. sharp. I told William that I was exceedingly grateful and offered to reimburse him of which he would have nothing of. So with that I told William that I would meet him in the morning at the Arkham Rail & Assoc. and begin our journey to Jamestown, Tennessee.

It was a hot and muggy morning as we boarded our train that next day. Fortunately, there were not many passengers and the train car was not as stuffy as it could have been and I was fortunate enough to be able to pick a window seat.

From Arkham we steadily traveled south along the eastern seaboard until we reached Pittsburg where we switched trains and proceeded south through Richmond, Virginia and on into Charleston, South Carolina. In Charleston we switched trains again and headed west through the Appalachian mountains on into Knoxville and then to the small town of Oneida, Tennessee.

In Oneida we switched onto a much smaller train that consisted of only one passenger car, a mail car, and a coal car. It was plainly obvious that the train we boarded in Oneida had clearly seen better days. The locomotive was in such a state of disrepair I wondered how it ever could propel itself along the tracks. It was covered in rust and there were several places that I could clearly see various mechanical pieces either missing or broken.

Our passenger car was in no better condition. The paint on the outside of the car had faded so badly or chipped away that I could no longer tell what the original color was, and the name on the side of the car was barely discernable; it read “Fentress Co. Railway”. Inside the car itself the conditions were deplorable. Many of the seats had holes in them with the springs punching through. If not that, some of the seats were missing outright. In the rear of the car there was a huge hole in the floor that was barricaded off with a sign that warned, “Watch Your Step”. On top of all this the smell was horrid! It smelled as if a large multitude of unwashed bodies had invaded the car even though it was only William, myself and one other passenger aboard.

I promptly took a seat near a window, which was missing its glass pane, tried to inhale as much fresh air as possible and settled in for the last leg of our trip into Jamestown. William took a seat next to mine and explained that once we reached the station in Jamestown that he had arranged for a bus to pick us up and transport us to an inn named the Cargile Inn which was on the outskirts of the town. This was where I was to make my lodging for the duration of my stay.

The conductor then came aboard to take our tickets, a tall lanky man with long greasy blond hair who wore coveralls and a grimy button up flannel shirt underneath. The three of us gave him our tickets and he proceeded back off the passenger car telling us the trip should take about three hours. A few minutes later the train lurched forward and pulled out of Oneida and towards our final destination.

During our train ride to Jamestown, I took notice of the one other passenger in the car with us. At first he seemed unremarkable enough, looking like any other person that lives in this part of the country. Then I started to notice that the man was making strange gestures with his hands and muttering something under his breath I couldn’t make out.

William, seeing my perplexity, stated that the man was from the community of Rugby which was about twenty miles from Jamestown. I asked William if he meant the same Rugby that was the failed English settlement of second sons. He told me it was the one and the same. When I asked him how he could tell that the man was from Rugby, William told me many of the residents of Rugby were now a very secretive lot and many practiced strange rites and rituals that were similar to what our passenger was performing right now. When I asked what kind of rites and rituals William looked at me in a very unsettling way and said, “The community of Rugby failed, but not because of what your history books teach you. Those first few years in Rugby were very harsh and hard. Many families gave up and moved elsewhere. Others…well they turned to things best left unsaid to survive. What has went on in some of those colonial houses centuries ago still go on today. Things not meant to be mentioned. They stay to themselves there and we leave them be…and they us, for now.”

I sat looking at William for a few moments trying to contemplate what he was saying. When I tried to gather more information from him about these rituals and rites and why the colony truly failed, William would say nothing more of it and at one point became so angry that I thought he would strike me. After that I decided to let the matter drop.

The rest of the train ride into Jamestown was uneventful with exception of the strange chanting from our passenger from Rugby. By the time we arrived in Jamestown at the train depot, the sun was beginning to set and I was in need of a hot bath to clean off all the sweat and dust. In Arkham, the temperature was hot. Here in the southern states it was a swelter and humid, even at nightfall. I asked William if our bus had arrived yet and he informed me that it had and began to lead me to where it was parked in front of the train station. As I started to board the bus the strange man from Rugby ran up to me from behind and grabbed my arm and started yelling at me in a language I could not understand. Then all of a sudden the man produced a long wavy bladed dagger from out of nowhere and yelled in English, “The Cove waits! The Cove lives! Beware outsider for the Cove waits for you!” Then the man took his dagger and placed the blade against his right temple and proceeded to cut straight across his forehead! He then took his free hand and smeared it with the blood gushing from his head and wiped it across my chest and yelled, “You are marked stranger, and you are damned!”

By this time William had alerted the local law enforcement and they quickly subdued the strange man before he could do any more harm to me or himself. All the while the stranger was yelling that if I went to the Cove all was lost and my soul was doomed. William rushed up to me and asked if I was alright and if I had been harmed in any way. I told him no that I was fine, just shaken was all. He told me not to pay any mind to the strange man. On rare occasions they drift into town here and cause minor nuisances but nothing quite like this. William apologized again and asked if there was anything that he could do. I just told him the best thing would be to get me to the Cargile Inn where I could clean up and rest after our long trip.

So William and I boarded the bus and left the train depot towards my lodging. As we traveled along the dirt road toward the town square I noticed the town of Jamestown was very sparsely populated. Before we reached the center of the town we passed an old long brown stone building with grime stained windows set high in its walls. At the front of the building there was a large sign hanging above the entrance that read “Arnold Wrights General Store” Here on the front porch were several of the townspeople gathered talking about I know not what. What was strange was that as the bus passed the general store the few townspeople that were on the porch stopped talking and turned and looked directly at the seat of the bus I was sitting in. One of the residents of the town that were staring at me in particular was unnerving. He was a large man that was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. He looked to be an older man and wore a straw hat that shadowed his upper face and hid his eyes. Although his eyes were hid it seemed I could feel them bore into me even from this distance. Even after we passed the general store I could not shake the feeling of being watched. I looked at William but he seemed oblivious to the whole incident.

We then approached the town square where the County Court House resided. A massive stone building that seemed to be made out of the same type of stone as the general store we had just passed topped with a wooden domed central tower that had a large bare spot where it looked like a clock face should have been. Around the courthouse were several more stone buildings that housed a few various businesses of the community. A restaurant called Qualle’s Restaurant that had only one or two patrons, a few of the buildings were offices of lawyers, one a bank, a barber shop and another the local post office. Strangely, other than the people in the restaurant and the ones in front of the general store I didn’t notice any more people in the town. There was no one walking the streets, no automobiles, not even any animals to speak of. Even though it was approaching evening I thought this slightly peculiar but said nothing of it since I come from a larger city and am used to the city staying awake until the later hours of the night. I figured maybe in the smaller country towns of the south customs may be different than what I was used to.

At the court house we turned north onto Highway 127 toward the outskirts of town. As we turned onto the road we passed the front of the restaurant where I noticed a long gray haired, dark skinned man dressed in rags sitting on the sidewalk. He appeared to be of Cherokee blood but there was something about his appearance that didn’t seem to fit the characteristics of an Indian. As the bus drove by the man he looked up, opened a mouth that was full of rotted teeth, and held out before him a battered looking clay bowl that seemed to have some sort of reddish black liquid sloshing around and spilling out of it. He was mouthing something which I could not hear as we passed and as we went by he suddenly jumped to his feet and threw the bowl at the bus, shattering it and spreading its contents all along the backside of the vehicle. The liquid that was in the bowl was not as much of a liquid as I had first thought. As I watched it stick to the window of the bus I noticed it to be very thick and it seemed to harden very quickly and take on a stone like quality to it.

Before I could ponder the strange substance any longer William spoke and began telling me about the strange Cherokee man we had just encountered. William said the Indian’s name was Jolon Kajika and that he was one of the last of the degenerate tribe that still worshipped at Witch Hill Cove. William said to see him in the town is extremely rare since the law enforcement of Jamestown usually makes sure he does not enter the town at all. In fact, William told me, the reason that the tribe Jolon Kajika is from is nearly extinct is because there had been several “incidents” through the years involving the tribe and the townspeople that had resulted in less than favorable conclusions, for both sides. Again, this was another one of those subjects that when I asked William for more information on the matter he outright refused to talk about it. Judging from my last experience on the train with William over the town of Rugby, I decided not to try and push the matter further.

When I turned back to the window to study the strange reddish black liquid I found there to be no trace of it at all. I did notice however where the substance had hit the window of the bus there were deep pits in the glass, as if the glass had been hit with some sort of a corrosive. There was also a strange amber residue left over inside the pits left in the glass.

I decided then to turn my attention from the bus window to the countryside we were traveling through. As the bus continued north on the highway, the town quickly dwindled and turned into dense woodland dotted with decrepit ramshackle homes here and there.

About five miles from the town square and off to the left of the highway rose a massive windowed red brick building that rivaled the towns city hall as being the largest building I had seen since arriving in Jamestown. In the massive yard in front of the building were giant stones of white washed granite laid in the ground that spelled out “YORK INSTITUTE”.

William told me this was the towns’ local high school which was set up by the state government in honor of the county’s World War I hero Alvin C. York who wanted the children of the community to have a better education than he had to grow up with. Looking back at the giant brick building and the giant letters in front of the school, it suddenly dawned on me that in the journal entry of the survivor of the Cove that one of the pioneers on that expedition had the last name of York. I asked William if there was any relation between the Alvin York and the York mentioned in the journal. William said actually the Franklin York mentioned in the entry just so happened to be Alvin York’s great-great uncle and that the York’s had settled in the region of Wolf River. I made a mental note to myself to try and make a visit to the York’s in case they might have any additional information about what may have happened to Franklin York or information on Witch Hill Cove itself.

As we made our way past the high school the road slowly descended a hill where the forest crowded so close to the highway that the trees canopied the road overhead and totally blocked out what light was still left in the day and the bus driver was forced to turn on the vehicles head lamps.

I must note here, that even though the sun was setting and it was near dark, that the forest here seemed to have an eerily strange feel to it and seemed darker than usual. It was as if something was lurking just out of my vision inside the darkness of the forest and was looking back from just off the side of the road we were traveling down. The trees of the forest itself also looked somewhat “distorted” and not in an obvious way. There was something about the needles on the pine trees or the way the bark looked on the oak trees. However, the sun was setting and it was dark, so it was possible that the shadows were playing tricks on my eyes and my imagination was running away with me. Though the uneasy feeling I was getting from the forest was something that I could not easily explain away and for the rest of the trip to the inn I felt very uneasy traveling through this strange wood.

Eventually the forest began to recede and the trees didn’t crowd the road as much. As a result my mood began to lighten somewhat and I felt a little more at ease for the rest of the trip. We travelled about another mile or two until the bus finally slowed and pulled off to the left down a short, winding, narrowed lane dirt trail. When we reached the end of this trail there sat a small two storied stone building, which by all appearances, looked very much like a midevel cottage. William then stood up and said this was the Cargile Inn and would be the place I would be staying for the duration of my visit.

The bus came to a halt and as we exited the bus, I noticed we were standing on the far side of a courtyard and the inn itself stood opposite of where we were. In the middle of the courtyard stood a crumbling three tiered grey stone fountain. Ornamenting the top of the fountain was what appeared to be a stone angel. Its left wing had been broken off and its face had been worn clean by time and weather. The base of the fountain where the water should be, laid bare, dry and cracked with stunted brown weeds growing out between the cracks. The courtyard itself was devoid of any vegetation other than weeds growing up between the flagstones on the ground and around the inn itself. The bus driver had come around from the other side of the bus with my luggage and handed my bags to me and bid me good evening and boarded the bus to leave.

William and I then walked across the courtyard towards the inn and the lone light glowing from a window on the bottom floor. As we arrived at the entrance to the inn, William knocked on the heavy oak door, stepped back and waited. From inside I could hear the mutter of voices and the shuffling of feet. A short time later the door swung open and light flooded out of the door and illuminated the darkening entranceway.

The lady who greeted us was elderly but ready with a warm smile. The woman was short and stooped and had a head full of bushy, short cropped gray hair and gray eyes to match sitting behind the wire framed glasses sitting on her nose. She introduced herself as Maggie Wright and that her and her husband Beryl ran the inn. Mrs. Wright invited us into the entrance lobby of the inn and walked behind the greeting counter and asked if we would need lodging for the evening.

William then introduced me to Mrs. Wright and stated that I would need lodging for an indefinite period of time. When Mrs. Wright asked why I would need a room for such a long period of time I told her that I was here to study the legend of Witch Hill Cove. Upon hearing this, Mrs. Wright’s face darkened and lost all signs of her former hospitality. She looked at me with those gray eyes of hers that had suddenly turned cold and hard and she told me I best leave things I don’t understand alone and go back from wherever I had come from.

William then spoke up and firmly asked Mrs. Wright for the room key. Mrs. Wright looked at William for a long time before finally muttering something under her breath and pulling a room key from the peg board from behind the counter and handing it to me. She told me I would be staying in room number three located upstairs and that breakfast was served every morning at seven a.m. in the common room. She also said that room rates were four dollars per week and the first week’s payment was due now. I paid Mrs. Wright the four dollars and signed the guest book sitting on the counter.

I then turned to William and told him that I wanted about a week to do some research and conduct interviews with any relatives and townspeople that may have knowledge of the Cove. William told me the best place to start my research would be the public library back in town and that he would have it arranged for the bus to arrive and pick me up at nine o’clock in the morning. With that I bid William a good evening and he took his leave.

I turned from the entrance lobby and walked into the common room of the inn. The common room itself was really no more than a small den with a battered wooden table sitting atop a threadbare red rug in the middle of the room. The room itself had worn, unvarnished wooden floors that would creek and moan wherever you would walk upon them. On the opposite wall in between two windows sat a stone fireplace with various keepsakes and books sitting atop the mantle. The draperies of the windows were drawn and had once been white in color but time had discolored them to a sickly yellow tint. The walls themselves had various paintings of landscapes and photos of whom I presumed to be family members of the Wrights. The one major decoration of the room that one could not help but notice was the giant mounted boar head above the fireplace. Granted, I’m not a hunter and far from an expert in wildlife, but the head of the boar mounted on the wall in the common room of the inn was the most massive thing I had ever seen. It wasn’t just the size of it that caught my attention. The head looked to be malformed in some way and the head had what appeared to be large tumors all over it. The sockets, where the eyes of the boar should be, almost seemed non-existent as if the creature never had any eyes to begin with. The mouth and tusks of the beast seemed too large even for its massive size. Even though the creature was long dead there was something eerily sinister about the way the thing looked. Almost as if it still held some abomination of life within it. I quickly decided to find something else in the common room to fix my attention upon.

On the right hand wall of the room stood a large oak door that I presumed led to the Wrights private bedrooms and other living areas of the inn. On the left hand wall of the room stood the staircase leading to the upper floor of the inn. As I began my climb to my room I noticed a nightstand sitting by the base of the stairs that held a spherical object identical to the one that William had shown me in Arkham.

I picked up the object to study it closer and noticed while in appearance, the object was similar to Williams’, its weight was vastly different. The object William had shown me was very dense and very heavy, while this one was very light weight to the point I thought it may have been hollow. Another difference between the two objects was that this one did not have the hazy, shadowy shape in the center of it and was almost transparent to the point that I could see almost clearly through it.

Before I could study the object any further I heard someone behind me clearing their throat. When I turned around I found Mrs. Wright glowering at me with her gray eyes. She told me not to be touching things that did not belong to me and that I should be minding my own affairs. Embarrassed, I hastily placed the object back on the nightstand, apologized, and made my way to the upper floor of the inn.

The stairway emptied out into the middle of the upstairs hallway which was illuminated only by a single oil lamp sitting on a small table opposite the stairway. As I made my way down the hallway to my room, I noticed a window at the end of the hall was opened with a soft breeze blowing in. I noticed that there was some sort of strange odor blowing in with the breeze that smelled faintly of rot and sickness but just as suddenly as I smelled it, it was gone again. Shrugging, I turned to the door of my room, unlocked it with my key and entered.

My room at the Cargile Inn was a plain affair in its furnishings. With its single bed with brown rough spun quilt and white sheets, the wooden nightstand sitting next to the bed with its oil lamp burning low, the dresser drawers in the far left corner of the room and the small writing desk and bookshelf in far right corner, the room was quaint but functional.

I went to the nightstand and turned the oil lamp up higher to better lighten the room and then proceeded to unpack my clothing and fill the dresser drawers. I then went to the writing desk and started placing my research materials and journals on the desk. When I went to the bookshelf to place the few books on Indian folklore I had in my possession on the shelf, I noticed there were already a few books and magazines in the shelf. Upon further examination of the contents of the bookshelf, I found most of the books and magazines were of a mundane affair and of little interest with the exception of one.

The one book that caught my attention was titled “Pagan Rituals and Deities of Primitive Indian Tribes” by Nathanial Baxter. I was mildly surprised by my find for several reasons. First, the author Nathaniel Baxter was a fairly well known writer and scholar in the University circles of the New England states for his work in obscure religions and cults, but his notoriety was limited mostly to just that region. To find a book written by him in such an out of the way place and in the southern United States was quite strange. Also, Nathaniel Baxter had not been heard from in several years and was believed to be deceased since he had undertook what he said was a “Personal and Professional study” of a decadent seaport town in Massachusetts. Another peculiarity was, though this region of the country is still inhabited by Indians, I found it hard to believe that many people here would be interested in or care about the beliefs and pantheon of the Indian tribes. To find the book sitting here in an inn was also particularly odd.

After I had put away my belongings and changed out of my bloodied shirt, I decided to sit down at the writing table and study the book I had discovered more closely. The book detailed the various Indian tribes located throughout the North and South Americas and the various deities that these tribes held sacred. The book described in detail the horrific rites involved with the Aztec underworld god Acolmiztli, the strange and bizarre worshipers of Agaman Nibo, goddess of the dead, and the disease ridden god of pestilence Chalchiutotolin and his never ending dream to spread his “gift” to all those who live on the Earth from his throne of carrion located in the dark matter circling our planet.

As I continued reading the book, I came across a small chapter dedicated to the god Ahtunowhiho-“The One Who Lives Below”. It was here in the book that I noticed someone had hastily scribbled notes and sketches in the margin of the pages. Some of the notes were just dates such as, March 11, 1761, May 7, 1885, and June 24, 1915. Some were strange formulas that seemed to be astronomical in nature, which I had never seen before, many were so hastily written that I could not make anything out, and there were also strange hand drawn, crude illustrations of monstrous and blasphemous deeds.

As I read about Ahtunowhiho, I found that he was the outcast god of the Void, that he was banished by the other gods for some unknown reason and imprisoned on a distant dead star. Until one day some unknown event took place and weakened Ahtunowhiho’s heavenly prison and part of his essence was allowed to escape into the vastness of space, where his influence somehow found its way to Earth and took root with various tribes in North and South America. From what I could gather from my reading, was that Ahtunowhiho’s only goals are to slowly drain the essence of living energy and life from all living things to the point that there is only left some shade of the former being, existing between this world and some other dimension. These “shades” are referred to as Ohanzee, and are believed to forever hunt and stalk for new victims for Ahtunowhiho and his rituals. It is through these actions that Ahtunowhiho gathers power to one day break from his prison and once more reign free in the cosmos and exact his revenge on the gods who exiled him.

After I finished reading about Ahtunowhiho, I sat and wondered why any but the most depraved and insane would ever worship such a deity. The book tended to be very vague on the details of the worshipers of Ahtunowhiho and only said that they numbered very few and that they tended to only be of a number in outcast tribes that other Indian tribes disassociated with. The book also had a brief reference that the followers of Ahtunowhiho may have a book of teachings that they followed named “The Teachings of Pay”. It also said that this was conjecture and that no such book has ever been seen and only referred to by worshipers who were overheard in conversation.

By this point I was quite exhausted and it was growing late in the evening. I placed the book back upon the shelf and went to the wash basin by my bed to wash off the day’s dirt from my face. As I was getting ready to climb into bed for the night, I looked outside my bedroom window which looked out into the backside of the inn. I noticed that the backyard of the inn was actually not much more than a small grove bordered by dense forest with a single trail exiting the grove leading deeper into the blackened wood. The grove itself contained what appeared to be a few gravestones with a crumbling well in the center. I opened my window so I could get a better look into the grove and noticed as soon as I opened it that it was eerily quiet outside.

As I stood at the window a soft breeze started to blow, and again I smelled that strange hint of something rotten carried on the wind. Just as suddenly, it was gone again. I went to shut my window when I thought I noticed something at the edge of the grove near the winding trail entering the woods. When I looked again all I could see was darkness and a silent, empty grove. Closing and turning from the window, I blew out the oil lamp and climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep.

III

I ran through the muddy earthen tunnel away from the hellish screams and horrors, that I knew lay just behind me and towards a terror that may very well lie before me. Each step was harder than the last as I struggled to lift my feet from the ankle deep diabolical mud that seemed to cling to my body and feet with some sort of a supernatural tenacity. All the while the terror in my mind continued to grow larger as I heard the pursuers behind me growing closer. I forced myself to push on in a near blind panic stricken state, one mud soaked foot in front of another.

Then suddenly I lurched into a light filled circular room! The tunnel had ended in a dead end and then looking up I saw a white light at the top of a long, rough hewn, stone shaft slick with green algae and fungus. The light! My savior and my hope!

Looking back down the tunnel I saw, swirling in the darkness, formless darker masses coming towards me as the walls of the tunnel began to vomit forth sickly green tendrils of mist and light that seemed to stretch hungrily for my soul!

I scrambled for any purchase I could find on the walls of the slime covered shaft and to my amazement, my hand found what appeared to be a carved out hand hold! Laughing hysterically at my luck, I pulled myself up the shaft using the hand holds and frantically climbed for the white light, for the safety I knew must surely be there!

One hand over the other, higher and higher I climbed! Below, I heard an inhuman howl of fury and rage that seemed to emanate from the very earth itself! Faster I climbed, forgetting to try and make sure I had a firm grasp upon the hand holds, and closer the white light drew!

Now!

One final push and I would be enveloped in the warmth and sanctuary of the light! I was there! I was safe!

Suddenly, the earth shuddered as I made for my last hand hold and my grip gave way as the light briefly brushed my face! I felt myself falling backwards, the white light growing smaller the further I fell towards the nightmares that lay below me! So close I was! I felt the green tendrils hungry grasp reaching up to envelope me and the shapeless black forms of death parting to make way and welcome my return to their master.

I screamed.

IV

I was startled awake by a hard knocking on my room door. I sat up in my bed hurriedly and realized I was drenched in sweat and that my covers and sheets were strewn about in the floor. It was just starting to dawn outside and I realized that even though it was summer, it was quite cool this early in the morning. This was made even more evident by the cool breeze blowing through the open room window.

The knock came again, this time more firmly and I yelled that it would be just a moment before I was ready. I quickly got out of bed, closed the window and quickly went to the wash basin to wash my sweat drenched face and then answered the door.

Upon answering the door I was greeted by a tall, lanky sallow faced man that was bald on top but had long, stringy, gray hair around the sides. Dressed in dirty, worn coveralls that had several holes in them, the man introduced himself as Beryl and this was the six a.m. wake up call. When I asked where I could bathe, Beryl just looked at me for a moment then informed me that the inn did not have any running water but there was a privacy stall beside the inn with a hand pump that I could draw water from. Beryl told me he would have his wife place soap and fresh towels next to the stall and that breakfast would be ready in about an hour.

After a quick, cold shower I entered the common room of the inn where the complimentary breakfast was set up. Mrs. Wright was standing ready in the corner of the room and beaconed me sit at the table. The table was arrayed with various kinds of food that is typical fare for the southern states. There were bacon, eggs, sausage, ham, homemade biscuits with gravy and all served with milk, coffee, or orange juice which Mrs. Wright readily poured for me.

The breakfast was pleasantly tasteful and very filling, after which I thanked Mrs. Wright. I then gathered up my travel bag which contained my study materials and left the inn to wait for the bus in the courtyard to carry me to the library so I could research more on the Cove.

As I waited for the bus to arrive, I sat upon the lip of the cracked and crumbling fountain that I had first observed when I first arrived at the inn. I remembered clearly that the day before, the base reservoir of the fountain was as dry and chafe as any stone surface would be after being left in the hot summer sun for a long period time. Now however, I noticed, seeping up through a crack at the bottom of the fountain and covering the floor of the fountain reservoir was a thin layer of wet, sticky reddish black mud. I also noticed what appeared to be small bird that somehow had gotten caught in the strange mire. What was left of the avian creature was barely recognizable. Most of the flesh of the creature seemed to have rotted or blistered and boiled away.

I stared in puzzlement and revulsion at the ooze, which continued to slowly seep up and out of the fissure in the fountain and slowly creep over the remains of the poor bird, for several minutes I watched this macabre display until I heard a horn blow from behind me. Turning, I noticed the bus had arrived and was waiting at the edge of the courtyard with William hailing me from the door of the vehicle.

I made my way across the courtyard and onto the bus where William greeted me and asked if my first nights stay in Jamestown and the inn was a pleasant one. I assured him that it was, not mentioning the dream, and that I was looking forward to beginning my research on the Cove. With that William bid me to take a seat and told the bus driver to take us to the library on the other side of town.

The bus driver put the vehicle into gear and the bus lurched forward and back down the winding dirt trail leading back to the main road. Arriving at the main road we turned south and headed back towards the town proper. Back through that dread stretch of wood we travelled that still held some kind of sinister presence even in the light of day. Past the high school and its giant granite stone letters and beyond the giant stone town hall we travelled. Out beyond the town square, past numerous gray stoned buildings and closed shops that stared vacantly back at me, each perhaps with a story to tell of their own. The bus travelled until the buildings began to thin out and veered left off the main road when we arrived at a street called South Brady Avenue.

Slowly the bus climbed the gently sloping hill that the street lay on. Here, the trees were well groomed and the houses looked like they dated back to the colonial, Victorian era and were well maintained. Obviously this section of the town was where the upper caste and wealth of the community resided. As we reached the zenith of the hill, the bus turned right onto a short cobblestoned drive that ended at a modest two storied building constructed of hardy oak with a stone foundation. Above the buildings two massive mahogany double doors was a large wooden plaque embossed in gold lettering reading, “FENTRESS COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY”.

William lead the way from the bus to the entrance of the library where he told me he would return at four p.m. to pick me up and return me to the inn. He also told me that he informed Ms. Gibb to be expecting me and what I was wishing to research. William bid me good day and good luck with my studies and departed back to the bus. Pushing open the large double doors, I entered the library. I was instantly greeted by the smell of mildew and must. Looking about though, I was quite impressed by the volume of books that this library in such a small town contained.

The first and last third of the first floor contained nothing but wooden shelves of books covering various subject matters. The middle of the floor contained several wooden chairs and tables for one to sit and read or study. In the direct center of the floor, and straight ahead of me was a large desk with several piles of books and newspapers littering its surface. Behind the desk sat a waifish, mid-twenties lady, dressed in a blue flowered white dress and who kept her brown hair up in a bun. This, I assumed was Ms. Gibb and it appeared she did not notice my entrance since she seemed very intent on what appeared to be her checking in the books sitting on her desk and placing them back on the shelves.
Behind the librarians desk rose a black spiral metal staircase that allowed entrance to the second floor. A rope with a sign which read, “Employees Only” stretched across the bottom railing of the stair. Looking around one last time I made my way for the librarian’s desk to inquire of the research materials I needed to study the Cove.

As I neared the large and battered work desk, the pale and slim girl behind it abruptly looked up and took notice of me for the first time since I had entered the library. She looked at me as if startled, but quickly recovered herself and asked if she may be of assistance. I told her who I was and that I was informed that I was to be expected. When the young lady looked confused, I asked her if she was the Ms. Gibb that my colleague told me to contact.

At the mention of Ms. Gibb the young lady then told me Ms. Gibb was actually out today on a personal matter and then introduced herself as Ruby Beaty and asked if there was any way she could help me instead. I then told her I was from Arkham, Massachusetts and was here to study the local folk legend of Witch Hill Cove. At the mention of the Cove I noticed Ruby slightly start and go a little a pale. She quickly recovered however and stated that most of what little is known about the Cove is from word of mouth and stories passed down through the generations, but that the library did have a special collection dedicated to the Cove that contained various written documents and accounts of experiences dealing with the Cove and that it normally was off limits for viewing. She said apparently though I was expected, and due to the circumstances she would allow me to conduct my research.

Ruby instructed me to take a seat at one of the tables and she would return shortly with the materials that I would need. I took my seat and Ruby proceeded to climb the tall winding stairs to the second floor. A short time later she returned and placed upon the table in front of me a paper file box that contained various newspaper articles, photographs, journal and diary entries, official documents of town meetings held to discuss the Cove, several pamphlets with notes and hand drawn diagrams inside and two strange artifacts that turned out to be a very sharp stone that was white as pearl and about as long as my thumb and a small vial that was filled with a strange black and brackish looking liquid.

Ruby told me if I needed anything else that she would either be at her desk or among the shelves replacing the books and cleaning. I thanked her and began my research by setting the two artifacts to the side for the time being and began to sort and organize all the various materials into chronological order. It was after this that I dove into my study of the Cove.

The first account of the Cove after its initial discovery apparently took place in 1761. In the library’s file I found a yellowed parchment detailing a town meeting where the council heads had decided to form what appeared to be a local militia group of around twenty men to march to the Cove and uncover the “diabolical forces” that were at work.

Apparently in the years following the discovery of the Cove up until 1761, more and more strange occurrences were happening in the dark black of night in the vast wilderness in the areas surrounding the Cove. Farmers who lived in the northern outskirts of Jamestown had begun to notice strange lights in the woods and were reporting hearing strange voices and chanting more and more. One farmer told the council that one evening while out hunting, his dog had caught the scent of something and broke free of his grasp. The farmer said he gave chase as best he could but realized that the dog’s direction was leading him ever closer to the location of the Cove. The farmer then decided to turn back and leave his dog to its fate. Several days later the farmer was in his fields when he noticed a putrid lump of hairy flesh lying in a heap in the middle of the field. There was a sickly trail of rot leading away from the pile and into the forest where apparently the thing had come from before finally dying in the spot where the farmer had now found it. Upon examining the pile of flesh closer, the farmer then realized this was what was left of his hunting dog, because found within the carcass was the collar and leash that had been attached to the dog when it had broken free from the farmer’s grasp.

The town notes had several more accounts that were similar but to a lesser extreme. What had apparently spurred the council into action was an event that involved an abduction of a nine year old girl named Elizabeth Moor. According to the town records the girl had been playing near the woods and was being watched by her mother. Her mother had apparently went inside the house for a moment to attend to some quick duty and upon returning to check upon her daughter the mother stated that she saw a cloaked form in filthy rags suddenly emerge from the trees of the wood, grab the child, and disappear back into the forest all in the blink of an eye. At first the mother stated it happened so fast that she just stood there dumbfounded until the reality of what happened had struck. The mother then said she began to scream hysterically until her husband had rushed to the house from the fields after hearing the screams. After the woman had frantically told her husband what had transpired the man immediately took up his musket rifle and rushed into the forest in search of his daughter.

The man had claimed that he had traveled deep into the forest for over an hour calling for his daughter without sight or sound of her. Then suddenly, rounding an outcropping of rock near a streambed, the man found his daughter lying upon the ground perfectly still and motionless as if asleep. The man also said that upon her face there were strange symbols painted with the same strange black/red mud that has been described in other sources.

The man quickly took up his daughter in his arms and rushed back to his house where he and his wife quickly cleaned the girl and placed her into bed. However, when they tried to clean her face of the strange markings, they found that the mud stuck to her flesh, smeared and severely stained her skin until finally the parents had to give up and leave the strange substance on her face. The parents then fetched the local physician and, according to the account, did all that he could to rouse the girl from the strange sleep state that she had fallen into. However, despite the doctor’s best efforts the girl never woke and her physical state deteriorated so rapidly that it seemed unnatural. According to the account the young girl, “…aged in years and appearance of an elderly lady within three days time. Her hair grayed and became dry and brittle. Her skin wrinkled and shriveled to a point that it looked like her flesh was papery thin and barely hung to her bones”.

By the fourth evening after the girl’s abduction her condition had degraded so badly that neither the doctor nor the parents believed that she would last until the morning. So as the parents waited outside the child’s bedroom that night waiting for the passing of their daughter, they noticed a strange soft amber glow had begun to emanate out from under the closed door to Elizabeth’s bedroom. The mother quickly rushed to the door of her child’s room and quickly flung the door open to see what was now happening to her child. Upon entering the room the woman screamed and fainted from what she described as “…a sight so unholy that a human tongue should never tell of it for fear of the damnation it may bring upon the teller”. However, it is reported in the account, though vague, that “…what was left of the poor child after this event should never be wished upon the worst of mankind, much less an innocent child and that may she now rest in peace in the embrace of our loving Father in Heaven”.

Soon after the story of Elizabeth Moor’s fate reached the leaders of the town it was decided that a local militia should be assembled and sent to the Cove. The militia was instructed to take into custody any members of the degenerate Indian tribe that worshiped at the Cove that they came into contact with and if possible investigate the Cove further and see what truly goes on there and report their findings back to the town leaders.

This is where the records became very vague and unclear. There were no accounts of what the militia discovered (if anything), no documents or court records of trials held for any Indians that may have been brought back by the militia or even any mention of the Cove again until over a century later. The only scrap of evidence I was able to find that may have anything to do with the Cove after the militia was formed and sent out was a small torn piece of paper that happened to be stuck to the back side of a document I was reading about the militia. What it said was both strange and foreboding and written in verse. It read as follows, “Forgive us Oh Father, our trespasses and sin, we have travelled upon ground forsaken and old, let not our souls be damned as our bones grow weary and cold”. Shaking my head in puzzlement and amazement over how something like superstition can have such an effect over so many people, I set this first account to the side, wrote down notes in my journal and eagerly jumped into the next account that occurred in 1885.

The next report of the Cove, or I should say, the next accounts of anything pertaining to the Cove took place in the spring of 1885. These were documented in the local newspaper “The Fentress Chronicle” and the other in, of all places, a scientific journal from Vanderbilt University.

The newspaper article reported that a local resident named Anthony Gregor, a man the article reported had a credible background in science and astronomy, had been observing the heavens for the past several months. Mr. Gregor had apparently claimed to have discovered an unknown but small constellation of eight stars (one of which shined very dimly as if it were about to sputter out) that seemed to orbit around what he called a “…black, shifting void in space”. Even more strange, Mr. Gregor stated that this strange constellation on some nights were present and very clear to see, while on other nights it could not be seen at all. How all of this tied into the Cove was unclear to me until I read to the end of the article where Mr. Gregor said, that when the constellation appeared in the night sky there seemed to be an increase in the bizarre activities of the degenerate Indian tribes that was reported to worship at the Cove. Mr. Gregor told the newspaper that he planned to make an excursion to the Cove and see if somehow there was a correlation between the constellation and whatever religious practices took place at the Cove. If found that there were, it would make a noteworthy mark in the fields of Theology and Astronomy and would lend to a better understanding of how primitive peoples linked the stars and the cosmos to religious practices.

The article had apparently been written several days or weeks prior to its printing because the reporter who had done the story had added a follow up to the piece. The article read that since the interview, Mr. Gregor had indeed set off to investigate the Cove in further detail about its possible connection with the newly discovered constellation. The article also stated that Mr. Gregor had asked the reporter for assistance with his research and left with him a telescope with instructions on how to use it, where to look in the night sky for the constellation and told the reporter to take notes on any significant happenings while he was gone. The reporter stated in the article he didn’t understand why he was asked to do this but felt flattered that he might be part of a significant scientific and theological discovery and told Mr. Gregor he would do his part to further the knowledge of the sciences.

The day that Mr. Gregor had departed, the reporter that evening had set up the telescope and pointed it at the section of the sky that he was instructed to. That first evening the reporter stated that particular section of the sky contained nothing of note except that it did seem curiously empty. Then on the third night the reporter said that indeed, the small constellation appeared in the night sky with its seven bright shining stars and the one faint and flickering one. All the stars were positioned in a circle around what appeared to be a shifting blackness that was darker than the rest of the sky. The constellation appeared again the next two nights where the reporter claimed that it seemed that on each night the stars were in a different position around the blackness. He said he felt confident in claiming this because the one star that was the dimmest was always in a different position each night and he assumed that the other stars also probably tended to be also.

On what was to be the final night that the constellation was to be visible, it was reported the next day that several of the residents that lived on the northern outskirts of the town began to hear faint chanting from deep within the forest and a foul stench and odor had rose up on the wind. On that final night the reporter claims that the constellation was brighter than it had been since it had first appeared to him and that all the orbiting stars seemed to be fluctuating in brightness with the dimmer one seeming to struggle more and more to shine.

Then around two a.m. in the morning the entire town was awakened by a thunderous quake and, what some reported, a low unearthly moan that shook the entire town. The reporter claimed several minutes before the quake, he was observing the constellation, taking notes on its unusual brightness and the peculiarity of the stars; when suddenly the dimmest of the stars flared to a brightness so great that it almost blinded him as he looked at it through the telescope that he had to look away. When the reporter looked back he noticed now that the constellation contained only seven stars with the dimmest one no longer to be seen and now that he looked into the center of that shifting darkness there could be seen the tiniest pinprick of light. The reporter then claims as he looked into that shifting darkness he was suddenly filled with such an overwhelming feeling of maelovance and loathing that it nearly sent him to his knees. It was then the reporter claims that the quake struck the town and sent him and the telescope crashing to the ground shattering its lens and ruining the apparatus.

The day after, the town was abuzz with talk of what happened the previous night and the reporter claims that for several days after, Mr. Gregor still had not arrived back into town. The reporter said he informed the local law enforcement of the missing man and informed them where Mr. Gregor said he was going. At the mention of the Cove however the local sheriff told the reporter if Mr. Gregor was that big of a fool to travel to the Cove then he brought upon himself whatever fate befell him.

Then one day about two weeks after Mr. Gregor had departed on his trip to the Cove, the reporter said he was walking home from the newspaper office along the tree lined street of Hampton when suddenly he was “accosted by a wild eyed, disheveled man in tattered rags for clothing”, coming out from behind the trees along the street. At first the reporter said he was so startled by the encounter he did not immediately recognize the man, but once he regained his senses he knew him to be none other than the missing Anthony Gregor. The reporter claims Mr. Gregor rushed from the trees and grabbed him by both arms and was rambling incoherently about the teachings of Pay, ancient Old Ones from a time before time, how “He Who Walks Below” was trying to free himself from his dead star prison and how the Cove was some form of ritualistic focal point for ceremonies meant to release this ancient and evil being. Then suddenly Mr. Gregor calmed and asked the reporter if he had observed the constellation, to which the reporter told Mr. Gregor he had and related all of what had happened.

The reporter said once he had explained to Mr. Gregor all of what he had observed that immediately he became hysterical and raving again. Yelling that the damage had still been done despite his efforts, that the seals were weakening to the prison and that the world must be warned or it was doomed; Mr. Gregor had seemed to then lose all comprehension of his surroundings. When the reporter tried to ask Mr. Gregor to explain what he was talking and laid his hands on him to try and calm him he flew into a wild rage and struck the reporter across the face knocking him to the ground and then ran off down the street disappearing in the gathering dark of the evening.

The reporter then concludes the article by going on to state that later Mr. Gregor was apprehended and then, after a psychiatric evaluation conducted in Nashville, he was committed to the Moccasin Bend Mental Asylum in Chattanooga, Tennessee. The reporter then states that he planned to send all of the findings that Mr. Gregor and himself had observed to the Vanderbilt University’s Astronomy and Theology Departments in Nashville with the hope of advancing the knowledge of these fields of science and hope that all of Mr. Gregor’s work was not in vain.

I placed the newspaper to the side and then turned my attention to the scientific journal that was published a month after the newspaper article. The journal had a small piece about a small town reporter that claimed that a new constellation had been discovered by one of the local residents. The journal claimed that no evidence could be found of such a constellation at the coordinates provided by the reporter but only a small pocket of “empty” space with no stars or heavenly bodies within it. The journal said, while no constellation was found, the empty pocket of space in and of itself was somewhat of a unique find and commended the reporter on his find.

Sitting aside the scientific journal I again took out my own journal and began writing my own notes on these amazing accounts of a place that to my knowledge has remained largely unknown to the modern world. I began to think for the first time beyond the thesis paper I was to write for my entrance into Miskatonic University’s graduate program and started to dream of discovering a whole new folklore legend and religion that would set my name among the most famous in the scientific community of the day! Eagerly I wrote down my remaining notes and went back to my research of the Cove.

For the rest of the day I continued going through the contents of that old paper file box, looking over various accounts and reports of strange happenings taking place deep in the Tennessee wilderness in the vicinity of the Cove. There were tales of strange messages delivered by animals creeping from the woods. There was an account of a lynching of one the degenerate Indians, for some unknown reason, by the local town people. When the man was hung, for the next three nights chanting from deep within the woods could be heard all the way into the middle of the town and farmers in the northern outskirts of the towns were finding their livestock either disappearing or left mutilated in the fields. At the turn of the century there was an account of one of the local newspaper reporters mysteriously seen conferring with some of the degenerate Indians then suddenly disappearing. Soon after, the man’s house burned to the ground along with most of his possessions, but hidden beneath the foundation there was discovered a secret chamber filled with strange books of the occult and several hand written journals by the reporter concerning the Cove.

There were many other strange, but smaller accounts through the years but no major occurrences until 1915. Before I could turn my attention to this account I felt a light hand rest upon my shoulder. Looking up I noticed it was Ruby standing behind me. She informed me that it was now three thirty and that it was time for the library to close. I thanked her and began to place everything about the Cove back into the paper file box.

In my haste I grabbed the strange white rock shard and cut myself on the palm of my hand. I let out a short cry, which startled Ruby, and dropped the rock back onto the table. I was amazed at just how sharp the rock really was! To further my amazement, I noticed that the blood from my palm that was left on the shard seemed to be drawn into the rock itself and slowly it began to turn from white to black. Ruby looked at me with a worried look on her face and I quickly picked the rock back up and placed it into the box. I took out my handkerchief and wrapped it around my hand and told her that I would be fine and that it was a shallow cut. I bid Ruby farewell and that I would return upon the morrow to continue my research and left the library to wait outside for William.

As I exited from the library and Ruby locked the doors behind me, I took a seat on one of the wooden benches in front of the library to wait for William and the bus to arrive. As I sat waiting, I noticed that I was drenched in sweat and very tired. So involved in the study of the Cove was I that I didn’t notice just how hot and stuffy the inside of the library had really been.

Now that the heat of the day was passing and I was sitting in the shade of the library cooling off, I began to feel myself drifting off to sleep despite my best efforts to stay awake. The next thing I remember is awakening slumped over the bench. The sun had already set and the stars and moon were out and shining brightly. Taking out my pocket watch I saw that the time was now fifteen minutes past seven.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes and looking around somewhat dumbfounded, I couldn’t believe I had slept four hours and that neither William, nor Ruby had awakened me. The only thing I could logically surmise was that William must have somehow been detained and that Ruby must have left the library by some other exit other than the front doors of the library. How else could she not have seen me on the bench?

In any case I gathered my belongings and not seeing any other options, began to make my trek back towards the inn on foot. I stepped out onto South Brady Avenue and began to descend the gently sloping hill back to the main highway. I noticed that even though the moon shone full and the stars bright, the tree lined avenue and dark silent colonial homes in this part of town seemed to make the night darker. Looking at the old homes of Jamestown’s elite and wealthy, I got a strange and unnerving feeling that there were many secrets held behind their shuttered windows, their battered closed doors and that there were suspicious and sinister eyes watching me from within those antiquated dwellings. I quickly picked up my pace and tried to reach the bottom of the hill and exit the dark avenue as quickly as possible. I finally reached the main street and exited South Brady Avenue, leaving behind its shrouded homes and shadowy secrets. I then continued my walk north along the main highway leading back into the center of the town.

As I was walking along the outskirts of the town, I noticed that this part of the town was very run down and in very poor condition. The sidewalks were cracked and crumbling and had several large chunks of rock missing from them. The stone buildings to my right which I was passing were decrepit and had fallen into disrepair. It was as I was passing two of these buildings that had appeared to have been gutted by fire that I saw an entrance to a narrow alley cut down in between the two buildings. Peering down the refuse littered alley, I saw an open doorway in the side of one the buildings with a pale yellow light flooding out into the alley. I also heard voices and music from within and smelled the cooking of food. Smelling the food I realized that I had not eaten since the breakfast at the inn this morning and it suddenly dawned on me that I was famished and needed something to eat badly. I also thought maybe someone inside might be able to somehow transport me to the inn and save me what would be a long journey by foot. So pushing my caution to the back of my mind, I made my way down the alley and towards the light filled doorway.

Nearing the open doorway I saw there was a battered wooden sign hanging on a metal rod above the entrance to the building proclaiming the name of the establishment. The sign read, “THE DED RAT TAVERN”. To drive home this point there was a crudely painted picture of a dead rat under the letters of the sign. My expectations of what may lay within dropped even further when, glancing inside, I noticed several patrons of the tavern placing wagers and throwing knives at a mutilated dead rat nailed upon the wall. I now understood how the tavern got its name and decided that it might be best to walk back to the inn after all.

As I turned to walk back down the alley from the way I came, there stood a lone, shadowy cloaked figure looming at the exit of the alley. Then suddenly without warning, the figure began advancing down the alley towards me at an alarming rate! The shadow moved as if held by the strings of some made puppeteer as it jerked rigidly and maddeningly onward. As the figure advanced, the darkness around it also seemed to spread along the alley snuffing out all light until it seemed that the only things that existed were the strange shadow figure and myself, standing in a dark abyss with no sense of any direction!

In a mad panic I turned away from the advancing horror of shadow and scrambled blindly through the engulfing darkness searching for any escape that I could find! Suddenly I felt myself blinded by a light, stumbled and fell to the ground. Dazed, I looked up from the ground and noticed several dirty faces and unwashed bodies looking at me from dingy tables and an unkempt bar. Somehow I managed to stumble back down the alley and into “THE DED RAT TAVERN”. A grizzled, bent bearded old man, missing most of his teeth and sporting a dirty flannel shirt and pants was standing behind the bar glaring at me. He motioned for two of the patrons of the bar to help me to my feet. Once I was standing on my own, the old man introduced himself as Travis Ded, owner and operator of the tavern. He then asked if there was something he could do for me and that I better have a good excuse for causing the havoc I did from flailing around like I was upon entering his establishment.

Once I was standing on my own, I quickly introduced myself to Mr. Ded. I explained that I was walking back to my lodgings when I noticed the light from his tavern and decided to stop in to inquire if anyone would be so kind to give me transportation out to the Cargile Inn. Upon my mentioning of where I was staying, several of the tavern patrons gave me and each other a peculiar look. Mr. Ded’s eyes turned to narrowed slits and his gaze bore into me. He finally said that I must have hit my head too hard upon the floor when I fell and that I must be mistaken as to where I was staying.

I somewhat took offense at Mr. Ded’s assessment of my mental faculties and felt it was a personal insult of my intelligence, I took even more offence since the insult came from someone who was so obviously lesser educated than myself. Apparently my rebuttal to Mr. Ded’s statement inferred as much, because he and the rest of the tavern patrons instantly became hostile and rose to their feet! Mr. Ded immediately had his two toadies throw me bodily back out into the filthy alley from which I had come. Then, while standing in the doorway, Mr. Ded told me I best watch where I travel in these parts, that I best learn some better manners and that not all is what it seems here.

Mr. Ded started to turn away when someone from inside the tavern came up behind him and whispered into his ear. Turning back to me, Mr. Ded looked at me a moment and said that apparently one of the patrons had offered to give me ride to the edge of the forest just beyond the high school and would drop me off there to continue my journey. I was told to exit out of the back of the alley where I would find my ride waiting for me behind the building. With that Travis Ded gave me one last contemptuous look and then slammed shut the door to the tavern, engulfing the alley and myself in darkness.

I quickly got to my feet and fearfully looked up and down the alley for any sign of that dreadful shade I had encountered just moments earlier. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I quickly ran and exited the alley and emerged behind the tavern into a grassy clearing that stretched along the back of the buildings. There in the middle of the clearing sat an old, open back wagon with a bay mule attached for drawing it along. In the seat of the wagon sat a hunched over, hooded and cloaked form sitting beneath a lighted lantern which was hanging from a hooked pole above their head.

As I approached the wagon, clouds quickly moved in and covered the moon and stars and then it began to rain. Upon arriving at the wagon, the driver slowly turned his head to face me. The only thing I could make out of the drivers features was the lower half of his face, which was severely pock marked and covered in sores and tufts of red hair due to him having the hood thrown over his head and it being dark. I asked the man if he was the one who offered to give me a ride to the high school. In reply the man simply smiled, revealing a mouthful of rotten broken teeth and motioned for me to get into the back of the wagon.

I nodded and thanked the man and hurried to the rear of the wagon and climbed aboard. I sat myself against the wagons side among the now wet hay and various other refuse lining the wagons bed. Once I was seated, the man cracked his reins and the wagon lurched forward exiting out of the clearing. The wagon followed a muddy trail that eventually exited onto a side street which in turn led to the main road where we turned north towards our destination.

As we travelled, the rain continued to fall in a steady downpour and before we had even left the town proper, I was thoroughly drenched to the bone. The ride itself was a very dismal and quite one. Despite my several attempts at conversation with my driver, he seemed completely oblivious to my presence. Eventually I just dropped all attempts with talking to the man and sat in the wagon waiting to be dropped off.

By the time we reached the edge of the forest I was completely miserable, my hand was throbbing from the cut I had received from the mysterious rock earlier at the library and the rain was coming down now harder than ever. As the wagon drew to a stop, I climbed out of the back and thanked the man for the ride. The driver acted as if he did not hear me and simply reached up and took the lantern that was hanging from the hooked pole and handed it to me. I asked the man if I owed him anything for his troubles and again the man acted as if he was completely oblivious to anything I had said. Then before he drove off he looked at me one last time. Even though I could not see his eyes, I could feel his stare bore into me. Then with a rasping, parched voice he spoke, “God be with you stranger.”

Then the driver cracked the reins and disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone in the night at the edge of that dreaded abyssal forest.

V

DARK PASSAGES

As I was left standing in the rain and darkness with only the lantern the wagon driver left me for light, my only option was to continue my journey to the inn by foot. Upon entering the forest the thick canopy of the trees instantly blocked out most of the rain from falling to the forest floor, much to my relief. Standing there in the middle of the dirt road I tried to look deeper into the forest but the darkness was so thick that I could not see any more than a few feet into the foreboding wood.

As I walked along the road and further into forest, the darkness seemed to gather around me and I began to feel smothered to the point of feeling claustrophobic and I was finding it hard to breath. The light from my lantern also seemed to be having difficulty staying lit and was barely able to penetrate the darkness more than a foot in front of me. The further I travelled the more trouble my lantern had staying lit. There were several instances where the light grew so dim that I thought I was going to be left in the total darkness of the forest.

Along with the troubles I was having with the lantern and the unnatural stranglehold the darkness seemed to have on me, I also kept seeing strange forms that seemed to be darkness within the darkness. These forms kept swaying and moving in and out of my vision just beyond the limited range of my lantern’s light. There were several times that I thought I had seen something just in my peripheral vision begin to reach out for me from the darkness but when I swung around to see what it was there was nothing there.

So fearful did I become that I began to run at full speed down the road in spite of the danger that I could fall and injure myself due to the limited visibility. All the while I kept sensing that the strange shadow forms were continuing to hound and close around me! Once, I even thought I felt something grab me from behind but I was able to break free from its grasp and keep running with all the speed I could muster.

Finally I saw the end of the forest up ahead and the trees began to thin out somewhat. By this time a thick, slow rolling fog had begun to creep out of the forest and conceal the ground to where I could not see below my knees. I doubled my pace and ran headlong towards the exit of this diabolical forest with all my might. Then suddenly, when I was no more than fifty yards from the forest’s exit, I heard a hellish sound that sounded like a cross between a grunt and a squeal. Then, from somewhere to my right something came rushing from the trees and crashed into me with such a force that it knocked me from my feet and sent me sprawling across the road. My lantern flew from my grasp and crashed to the ground shattering and igniting the lantern’s oil leaving a burning spot upon the ground.

Dazed, I looked up to see what had rammed into me. In the darkness I could not really be sure what I was seeing. Almost face to face with me was some sort of four legged creature that resembled some sort of wild boar. However, it was obvious that the creature was mad with some sort of disease. With the limited light from the shattered lantern, I could see that the beast’s skin was corrupted with boils and lesions and that it literally looked like it was rotting before my eyes as its skin was sloughing of its bones almost like liquid, and falling to the ground in a putrid mess.

To further my amazement, I noticed there was what appeared to be a spiked collar around the beast’s neck with a long chain attached to it. The chain itself was suspended in midair and to my horror there appeared to be some sort of cloaked spectral being holding the chain in its grasp. The beast was constantly trying to break free from its grasp and was sniffing the air frantically as if to pick up some smell or scent. Looking around I began to notice other forms beginning to emerge from the darkness and move towards me. Frantically, I tried to scramble to my feet and rush back down the road.

Upon my movement, the crazed boar jerked its head in my direction and began to howl and scream in a crazed manner. Then, to my horror, the spectral being dropped the chain and the creature raced full speed straight towards me! I quickly turned to run and tripped on something on the ground and fell headlong into the fog. Fear struck, I saw the beast rushing through the mists with its flesh flying from its body and bearing straight down upon me! I closed my eyes and prepared for the end.

Suddenly, I heard a loud gunshot echo through the trees and heard the bullet sickenly hit something soft and fleshy. I heard the crazed board scream in pain and agony and crash to the ground. Opening my eyes, I looked around and saw that the boar was nowhere to be seen and the other forms that were emerging from the forest were now gone. I got to me feet and quickly made my way for the exit of the forest.

Upon exiting the forest I noticed that the rain had stopped the moon was shining bright and full again and basked the landscape in a soft, surreal white light that reflected eerily off the thick fog that still clung to the ground. Looking around for the mysterious shooter that had undoubtedly saved my life from the mad boar that had attacked me, I spotted a lone, dark figure further in the distance slowly walking away from me and disappearing into the fog. I quickly ran to catch up to the stranger and thank him for the assistance.

Upon reaching the man he turned to face me. I was greeted by a warm caring face of a middle aged man that stood tall and proud with an Enfield bolt action rifle slung over his right shoulder. Red haired, mustached, and clean cut, the man politely asked if he could help me. I asked if he was the man that had just saved my life from the wild animal. He gently smiled at me and said that maybe he was and turned to walk away again. Before he left I stopped him again and thanked him profusely and asked where he learned to shoot so well. He told me that he has competed in local shooting matches held by local townspeople since he was a child and honed his skill from these. It was from one of these matches he said he was returning from when he heard the commotion from the edge of the woods. When I inquired where he had obtained the Enfield rifle he said he had got to keep it after the Great War and that it had served him very well. With that he bid me farewell and told me to be careful out in this part of the land, he said there might not always be a helping hand nearby to save me next time. Watching the man disappear into the night I made my way down the winding dirt road leading to the inn.

When I finally reached the inn I noticed it was now going on half past midnight and I was exhausted and famished from lack of food. When I walked by the greeting counter inside the inn I noticed a large folded sheaf of paper with my name on it leaned up against a burning oil lamp. Taking the paper and unfolding it, I saw it was a note from William. The letter said that he was extremely sorry for leaving me at the library like he did, but some unforeseen event had transpired that needed his immediate attention. His note stated that he would arrive at the inn the same time in the morning to pick me up by bus and carry me to the library. The note went on to say he trusted that my return to the inn went safely and without incident.

I thought to myself, without incident indeed.

VI

The next morning I straggled out of bed at the knock from Beryl at my door and sleepily splashed cold water in my face from the water basin to fully awaken me. I quickly went downstairs to the outside wash stall and took a fast shower and then went back inside and helped myself to Mrs. Wrights breakfast, which I hungrily devoured. I made it a point this time to take some of the food with me since I did not want to be unprepared in case I was left at the library again without transportation or food.

After I had eaten my breakfast I went outside and awaited William once again by the fountain in the courtyard of the inn. William and the bus arrived at nine o’clock, right on time and as the bus rolled to a stop William quickly emerged, dressed in his usual nice but worn clothing of brown slacks and vest, and strode up to me forthwith and apologized exceedingly for leaving me at the library the day before. William said he was detained by a very important matter and did everything in his power to make sure I would have had transportation back to the inn but unforeseen circumstances prevented him from even doing that. He promised that it would not happen again and that I would have all his resources at my disposal.

I assured William that it was alright but that I did not wish to travel by foot again through the forest by night. I related to William the attack by the crazed boar and how a stranger had saved my life. I decided not to tell him of the specter I thought I had seen, because I myself was unsure if I really saw such a thing, for it was dark and my eyes and exhausted mind must have surely been playing tricks on me. Especially after reading the strange accounts of the Cove all day at the library, my imagination must have surely been running away with me.

Upon hearing my account of the previous evening, William’s face grew very grim and dark. He again apologized and said it would not happen again and said I was indeed very fortunate that a helpful stranger was passing by at the time of my attack. He then asked if I was ready to return to the library and continue my research, which I said I was, and with that we departed.

Again, William dropped me off at the library and told me that he would return at four o’clock to pick me up and once again assured me he would be here. I entered the library to find that Ruby had already set out the paper file box with all the information on the Cove on one of the tables. She told me that she was expecting me and took the liberty of getting everything ready for me. I thanked her and sat down for another day of examining the accounts of Witch Hill Cove.

I picked up where I had left off the previous day and began going over an account that dated back to the spring of 1915. The account was a hand written account penned in a small, leather bound journal. The journal did not have any indication of who it had belonged to and nowhere in the account did it mention the name of the author. By the style and tone of the writing however I assume the author to be male and will address them as such from here on.

The writer states that they were returning to their home in The Valley of the Three Forks of the Wolf late one evening from a tavern located on the Tennessee/Kentucky border. The writer confesses that what he writes may be distorted due to the fact he had been drinking heavily and roughhousing the whole night and that even to him the story seems fantastical beyond common logic.

The writer says he was on his way back home riding on the back of his mule in a drunken haze along an old dirt road as the moon glowed bright in the heavens. As his mule meandered along the road the rider said he noticed an orange glow deep in the woods off to the side of the road. Dismounting, the rider decided he would investigate whatever this strange glow might be and began moving toward the strange light.

As he went deeper into the woods the glow began growing brighter and the writer said he began to hear voices talking in hushed whispers. Finally he saw that the orange glow was actually a campfire situated between two ragged and rotting teepees. Sitting by the campfire were three degenerate looking Indians that looked as those known to worship at the Cove, two male and one female. The two men looked as if they were afflicted with some sort of disease and had leprous sores on their faces and skin. The female of the group looked to fair little better. Her hair was matted and dirty, her teeth were rotten and black, while her clothing was disheveled and tattered.

As the writer hid behind a fallen tree and watched the trio of Indians, they suddenly began to take up some strange chant that he claims sounded, “Oddly strange”, to his ears. The writer said from what he could tell, the chant was short and seemed to repeat itself over and over. The writer then goes on to try and write down what the strange chant sounded like as best he could, “Abs con did us ab bass vo co two um bra damn nation sin sura…”.

Looking at the wording the author did his best to describe, it appeared that the Indians were chanting in what appeared to be some form of Latin. This puzzled me greatly, for how would Indians know, much less speak Latin? I called Ruby over to the table and asked if the library contained any books that could help me translate Latin and she told me to wait a few moments and she would be glad to look for me. As Ruby went to look for the book I turned back to the journal and continued to read the rest of the entry.

The writer said as he looked on from behind the fallen tree he was hiding behind at the chanting Indians, the fire they were sitting around began to waver and a small black mass began to form and swirl inside the flame and grow larger. As he looked on, the darkness seemed to be taking on some sinister shadow humanoid shape that engulfed all light around it. The writer also states that the Indians seemed to have their life force being drained from them into the strange shadow being, because the two males’ already in poor physical condition seemed to worsen dramatically within moments. Their oozing sores began to fester and run bloody puss down their face and skin and the female’s skin began to blister and boil. All three seemed to age dramatically, their hair grayed and what skin did not fester into sores or boils wrinkled and withered. Despite all of this, the three Indians continued to chant their strange words as if oblivious to what was happening to them.

Then the writer said he noticed that as he was laying there on the ground that all manner of insects and creatures began to crawl out of the ground and whatever holes they were hiding in trying to get away from the gruesome campsite. It was then that the writer said a snake must have crawled out from somewhere and slid over his shoulder and startled him. This interrupted the Indians in their ritual and they then turned to him with fury and hate in their eyes. The shadow being however did not seem to be interrupted from draining the three Indians of their life force. As the Indians began to move against the writer they all let out a sharp scream and fell to their knees as the shadow continued to steal from them their life force to the point finally all three fell over dead, nothing more than hollow husks of decayed skin and yellowed bones.

The writer then goes on to state that while the interruption of the ritual apparently did not stop the shadow from consuming the life of the Indians it must have at least prohibited it from attacking him or freeing it from the confines of the fire because he describes the creature started to frantically try and escape the flames but found that it could not. Then slowly the flames began to converge over and silently reclaim the shadow in light until there was nothing left but a bright campfire.

The writer said he then approached the campsite and the corpses of the three Indians. Examining the remains of the Indians, he discovered around the neck of the female was a strange, circular wooden amulet that had odd symbols etched into it and around the outer edge of the amulet were eight white crystals that appeared to be quartz. Inside the campground itself the writer found very little except inside the moth eaten bedroll of one of the Indians. In this bedroll was found a strange book whose covers were made from rotted, worm eaten wood and bark, and its pages were made from various materials. What exactly the pages were made from the writer could not be sure for the book, despite its very primitive makings, had a very complex clasp and lock. Instead of a key to unlock the clasp, it had a strange circular indention in the wooden cover that somehow was linked to the locking mechanism.

Before the writer could examine anything further, the campfire suddenly began to sputter and die out, and the writer began to notice strange things in the darkness just beyond the light of the fire. He stated how suddenly a terror gripped him so fierce that he bolted in a blind panic back towards the road where his mule was waiting. As he rushed through the trees he could feel some ominous presence following from behind and trying suffocate the air from his lungs. He said he managed to get back to his mule and ride away safely if not a little more sober after the entire experience. Unfortunately, the writer claims that in his escaping the campsite he must have dropped the book in his haste to flee but that he had somehow managed to keep the amulet in his possession. He goes on to claim that if not for the amulet as proof to what happened he would surely dismiss all of this as some drunken dream he must have had. As it stands, he knows at least part of the tale has to be true and that he is not insane since he has the amulet as proof.

As I finished reading the journal entry I noticed that the author had signed their initials A.C.Y. at the end of the entry. It was at this time Ruby had returned with a book she told me was what appeared to be a basic dictionary of Latin words. I thanked her and asked her if she knew who the journal might belong to. She told me that she really did not know and that she rarely handles any of the items that are related to the Cove and she has only done so here recently due to the fact that Ms. Gibb has been out on personal matters. Frustrated, I thanked her again for the book and went back to the journal entry to try and decipher what the Latin phrase the author had overheard from the Indians.

The “dictionary” that the library had of the Latin words was very limited so my research took a considerable time longer than normally it may have. Adding to the difficulty was the fact that the author had no idea that what he was hearing was Latin and his interpretation had broken words into several fragments apiece. The first word was actually Absconditus, whereas the author had written Abs con did us. So it was with these obstacles I had to overcome to properly translate what I thought the author may have overheard. So, after a few hours I finally felt confident that I had figured out what the actual phrase the Indians were chanting. The phrase in the journal was, Abs con did us ab bass vo co two um bra damn nation sin sura. What I finally determined it to be was, Absconditus Abbas voco Tui umbra damnatio censura, roughly translated into English is, “Hidden Father summon Your shade condemnation judgement.”

I puzzled over the phrase for several moments trying to figure out what it may have meant. After re-reading the journal it appeared that the Indians may have been praying to their god to summon forth some sort of avenging spirit to seek revenge or retribution on someone. What puzzled me still was the fact that that the Indians were speaking in Latin and the fact that they prayed to their god, which is not a European deity, in that tongue was even more bewildering to me.

I wrote down some notes and thoughts in my own journal again for further reference and went back looking through the accounts. As it turned out there were not any more significant documentation after the 1915 incident in the records that the library had in its care. So I turned my attention to the few photographs that the file box contained.

The photographs bordered on the strange and bizarre. One photo pictured a hunting party standing around what appeared to be a huge carcass of some diseased and decayed beast of an animal. The corpse was so mutilated that I could not determine what kind of animal it was. Looking at the members of the hunting party one of the men looked very familiar to me but I could not place him. The picture itself had no markings or writing on it describing the scene or the date it was taken. The other pictures were more of the same. The photos contained various strange scenes, but nothing describing what was taking place in them. In fact, I wondered what many of the pictures were even doing in an archive of materials dealing with the Cove. Many seemed not to be connected to the Cove in any manner whatsoever.

As I was about to place the pictures back into the box I noticed one more photo that stood out to me from the rest. The scene in the photo showed a group of Indians in what appeared to be some underground cavern and they were circled around a rough hewn slab of stone. Upon the stone slab there was an animal strapped down by its legs and ankles. Standing over the animal on the slab was a hooded figure that appeared to be pouring, forcibly, some sort of liquid into the animal’s mouth from a strange decanter. Again, this picture like the rest had no markings or writing of any kind on it describing the scene or when it was taken. Frustrated, I gathered up all the photos and placed them back into the box.

The last articles of the box I turned my attention to were the two artifacts I looked at the day before, the sharp rock and the strange vial of liquid. The first item I looked at was the rock shard. I noticed that it was still black in color after I had cut myself and carefully taking it in my hand I decided to conduct a small test with it. Wishing to see just how sharp the rock was, I had brought with me a small piece of scrap metal I had found outside the inn that morning. Taking the shard I ran it along the metal in a vertical path from top to bottom. As I did so and to my great surprise, the shard did more than just score the metal, it completely sheared through it with such an ease that I nearly cut myself again! Astonished, I quickly wrote down my observations and my thoughts on how this material could be used in an industrial environment. I did notice however that after I cut the metal the color of the rock began to pale and start turning white again and as it did this my cut hand began to ache severely until I placed the rock down and released it.

Flexing my injured hand, I decided to turn my attention to the small vial of black liquid. The vial itself was no longer than my index finger and just as big around and made of fragile glass and stoppered at the end with a now dry rotted cork. Turning the vial over in my hand, the liquid inside, despite its appearance of being thick and syrupy was actually very fluid. I decided to uncork the vial so I might examine the liquid more closely and as I did so my sense of smell was assailed so violently that I spilled some of the liquid onto the table top where I was sitting. Instantly the liquid began eating into and through the wood of the table reminding me of the strange liquid that the crazed Indian Jolon Kajika had assaulted the bus I was riding in with when I first came to the town.

Suddenly Ruby appeared behind me saying she smelled a foul odor and wondered if everything was alright. She then saw what had happened and immediately became very upset with me, telling me that Ms. Gibb was going to be very angered with her and that I had best leave and I was no longer welcome in the library. I tried to apologize to Ruby several times and said it as an accident but she would hear no more of it and summarily dismissed me from the premises. She told me if I came back that she would call the law.

Now standing outside of the library I looked at my watch to see what time it was and noticed it was a quarter till four. So luckily I did not have that much longer to wait for William to arrive to pick me up. True to his word, William arrived exactly at four o’clock in the same ran down bus to pick me up from the library. As the bus rolled to a stop William exited the vehicle and came up to ask how my research had gone for the day. Before I could respond to his question however, I noticed William’s physical appearance looked very fatigued and strained. His white blond hair was disheveled and I noticed that he had lines and wrinkles in his face that were not there earlier that morning. I asked William if he was feeling well and that he looked like he was in poor health. He assured me that he was fine and asked again of my research.

I told William what I had discovered related the incident with the vial and Ruby. He told me that I need not worry about being banned from the library and that he would personally make sure that I was welcomed back there. I told William that it was not necessary because I had researched all I could about the Cove from what resources the library contained. William then asked if I was ready to make the trip to the Cove itself and that he could arrange for the trip to take place in two days. I told him that would be fine but first I wanted to talk to Alvin York about his relative that had been one of the original members of the party that had discovered the Cove. Upon hearing this William became very displeased and said that Alvin York would most likely not wish to be disturbed on such matters as the Cove since he was a devout Christian and would not look favorably upon talk of pagan rituals and sites of heathen worship. Nevertheless I pressed William for a meeting and finally he agreed to set up a meeting between Mr. York and myself. After we boarded the bus and proceeded back to the inn, William never once spoke another word to me about the Cove or anything else for that matter. After William dropped me off at the inn he curtly told me he would arrange the meeting with Mr. York within the next day and quickly bid me a short and dismissive farewell. Shrugging my shoulders, I entered the inn to settle in for the evening and go over the notes I had taken on the Cove.

VII

I spent most the next morning sitting in the small backyard of the inn going back over my notes of the accounts of the Cove. I found it quite amazing that there had virtually been no more visits to the Cove since its discovery in 1757, with the exception of the militia and the scientist Anthony Gregor. With there being no first hand documentation from either the members of the militia or from Mr. Gregor himself of their excursion to the Cove, only second hand references I found myself very eager to visit the Cove firsthand.

I must admit I felt a sense of adventure and excitement to be going on a trip to see this strange location that has held the local populace in such a grip of fear for nearly two centuries. To think, my eyes would be the first in living memory to behold the infamous Witch Hill Cove and document it for the modern world to discover! So lost was I in my reverie that I almost did not notice the furtive shadowy figure at the head of the small trail leading into the woods quickly disappear further down the path and deeper into the forest.

Startled, I called out to the figure but got no reply. Quickly I got up from the old bench I was sitting on and rushed to the edge of the backyard to where the trail entered into the woods. Looking down the trail and into the forest I could see no sign of the strange figure. Remembering my last foray of walking down a dark forested path, I was hesitant to go down the old dirt path that lay before me. For some strange reason though, my curiosity got the best of me and I set myself walking down that forested trail and into events that even today I am not sure are real and not the delusions of a mind that has strayed into the realms of madness.

As I traveled along the dark forested path, I felt as if all other things outside of what was happening right before me at the present ceased to exist. I felt as if there were no outside world or any events taking place other than me walking down this lonely dirt trail in a secluded part of the world that suddenly seemed lost and forgotten.

Deeper into the woods I traveled as I followed the winding dirt path, until finally the trail ended and dropped into a swamp. Out in the swamp in the distance I saw a small island that had a ruin of what appeared to be an old stone church completely covered with moss and fungus. Looking back on this I’m still not sure why, but I started wading out into the swamp to try and reach the old crumbling building in the distance on that lone small island. Eventually I made it to the island itself and upon closer inspection the building did indeed look like the remainants of some church or place of worship. There was evidence of a congregation hall with benches and an altar at the head of the hall. For all the showings of a religious building, for some reason it did not seem like a building that had been dedicated to the Christian god of our forefathers.

Looking about the building I noticed several places that appeared to have been burned at one time, but much of the building was so covered in moss that it was hard for me tell for sure. There were several rooms inside the building beyond the hall that I decided to explore as well but they added little to my knowledge as to the origins, purpose or the destruction of the building. As I was preparing to leave the island I noticed on the side of the building and entrance way leading down into what appeared to be a cellar.

Taking a closer look, there were indeed stone steps, slick with slime and ooze, descending down below the building into a subterranean chamber. The way was dark and I did not have a lantern with me, but fortunately I happened to have some matches with me that I had picked up from the inn. Lighting a match I made my way down into the dank cellar to see what it contained.

At first glance the cellar was unimpressive and void of anything other than refuse and garbage. In one corner I noticed a pile of rotten wood that had once been a table and a small rusted iron box lying on the floor. Moving closer, I saw that the box was very old and had a huge padlock on it that appeared almost medieval in design. Before I could look at it closer my match burned out making me have to light another. After doing so, I took another quick look around the cellar and decided that there was nothing else of value and I took the box in my free hand and exited the chamber.

Once outside and in the daylight where I could see clearly, I could tell that there would be no way for me to open the lock without the use of force. Looking around I found a large rock that I used to hammer away at the rusted lock until it finally broke loose. Opening the box revealed an old tome molded and mildewed to the point of being nearly unreadable and a wooden disk that had strange symbols and carvings inscribed on it and embedded around its outer rim were eight small crystals. This wooden disk reminded me very much of the amulet that was described by the author of the journal entry I had read the previous day at the library. I pocketed the disk in my vest and turned to examine the leather bound tome in front of me.

The book was quite thick and badly damaged due to the dampness of the cellar and the swamp. Most of the pages had become nothing more than a soppy mush and had degraded beyond reading. However from other, non-damaged parts of the book I was able to piece together some astonishing details. Most of the tome was written in Spanish and had some passages written in Latin. The tome also contained some strange artwork that appeared to show Spanish Conquistadors interacting with Indians. This was not uncommon in and of itself, but what was uncommon was the fact that the Spanish Conquistadors had traveled so far north as the Tennessee region of America. Going through the pages and trying to decipher the Spanish and Latin texts I found to my amazement that some of the dates in the book went as far back as 1523. Several passages referred to several Spanish colonists, priests, and conquistadors being abandoned by Ponce de Leon in Florida after being attacked by Indians. From what I could manage to read, the Spanish cast-offs managed to survive the hostile Indians in Florida and migrated north where they fell in with an outcast Indian tribe. The Spaniards taught the Indians Spanish and Latin and intermarried with them, but instead of converting the Indians to Christianity, the Spaniards themselves succumbed to the Indians teachings of an Elder god named Ahtunowhiho. To my surprise, many of the priests seemed to have actually accepted the teachings of the Indians more readily than some of the others because of some promise of eternal life through body transference that the Christian god could not offer. There were however several of the Spaniards that fought against this but they were quickly, as the tome reads, made use of by Ahtunowhiho in a special ceremony. From some of the crude artwork in the book, this ceremony seemed to have taken place in an area very similar to how the pioneers described Witch Hill Cove in 1757.

I was completely taken aback and truly amazed by what I had just read and discovered, knowing I was on the brink of a major historical and theological discovery, my mind raced at all the possibilities! Then, as I was sitting on the damp and muddy ground of that strange island reading the tome and trying to piece together and comprehend everything I had just read and what I knew of the Cove thus far, something from behind struck me violently in the head and I knew no more.

VIII

In the darkness I dreamed of faceless beings chasing me and dark shadows blacker than any night I had ever known clawing for my soul. Green mists entangling my feet and stealing the air from my lungs as my skin melts from my bones and the very essence of my being becoming consumed by some formless black entity beyond the realms of human understanding and comprehension, an entity that is constantly drawing power and gaining life from destroying all that lives.

These were the machinations of my fevered and fractured psyche as I drifted into and out of consciousness. All the while I was being carried along on a crude pole, from which I was suspended by my hands and feet that were tied to the pole itself by some crude rope, which was lifted on both ends by two filthy unwashed Indians running through the forest.

I had no concept or bearing as to where I was or how much time had elapsed since I first regained consciousness and I could tell I had been bleeding from the blow I had received to the back of my head. I could also tell that the forest seemed to be growing denser the further we travelled as if this part of the land had yet to be touched by the ever expansion of man and was still virgin and pure and had escaped the ravages of civilization.

Then, almost subtly, I noticed the trees and vegetation started to have a peculiar look to them. At first some of the plant life seemed to have a yellowish tint look to them then the further we traveled I noticed that the trees seemed to be loosing much of their foliage and much of the vegetation had begun to die and rot until finally I noticed there were no living flora whatsoever. All that the landscape now consisted of was barren black rock, brown dead weeds and withered remainants of trees. Also my wounded hand began to throb mercilessly as the black rocks became more and more prominant in the landscape. I also noticed that I did not hear any sound of wildlife whatsoever.

Eventually my captors reached a large stream and began following it deeper into the wilderness. I noticed that the water seemed to be brackish looking and I began to detect a putrid smell arising on the wind. My wounded head pounded relentlessly and I must have lost consciousness once again because the next thing I remember is awakening while still being carried by the two Indians still following the river.

Now though the sun had almost set and dusk was fully coming on. The Indians suddenly decided to wade into the stream and travel through the water. I soon realized why. Before us rose giant monolithic cliffs as high as the eye could see in the failing light and I noticed that the stream flowed into a fissure that led into the interior of these cliffs. Soon we passed into this dark fissure and emerged on the other side, and then to my surmounting terror I realized where I had been taken. Remembering the old journal entry that William had let me read back in Arkham from the first settlers of the region, I realized I was now at the infamous Witch Hill Cove.

The entrance opened into a large secluded cove with the ancient grey cliff walls rising on all sides as far as the eye could see into the now dark, evening sky. In the sky above I noticed not a single heavenly body was present except for a strange constellation that shone brightly in the sky. The constellation appeared to be seven brightly glowing stars that formed a circle with a noticeable gap in their arrangement, as if there should be another star in the constellation. In the center of this circle of stars I noticed a faint single prick of light amid a deep ominous and even darker shade of space that seemed to be contained by the circle of stars. Looking into this abyss of space between the stars I was filled with a heart stopping terror so great that I began to struggle violently against my bonds that held me to the pole I was being carried by until one of the Indians swiftly gave me a kick to my ribs.

Then suddenly I heard a cry from somewhere towards the interior of the Cove. Looking as best as I could from my upside down position I then saw it, the high rising mound of black/red mud in the middle of the Cove from which the area received its name two centuries before. Rising from the water like a sickly and cancerous tumor, the top of the hill was marked by an old twisted and long dead tree that had all manner of strange and ghastly objects hanging from its withered limbs. There were burning torches stuck into the mud illuminating the hill and its immediate area in a soft orange glow. Then to my horror I noticed atop the hill the struggling and naked mud caked form of Ruby Beaty! She was weeping and screaming frantically for help and mercy. Though as much as Ruby struggled to free herself, she could not move, for I saw that the strange mud of the hill held her fast in place and covered her lower body up to her mid thigh.

My mind raced frantically for anything I could do to help poor Ruby as I also struggled to keep its sanity intact. Because before my eyes I noticed that the mud on Ruby’s body was slowly crawling up her legs and covering her inch by inch as if it was some sort of living thing and all the while Ruby screamed in a mad hysterical panic. Then from the shadows beside her emerged a cloaked and hooded form that took her by the chin and from what I could hear across the Cove told her that she had failed and she had allowed the stranger to see too much. She began to plead for forgiveness and that she was only doing what she thought she was supposed to in the absence of Ms. Gibb. The cloaked figure slapped her across the face and said something about the time was near for her to continue her service to Pay. At this she began to cry and pleaded frantically to be let go. The hooded shape paid her no mind and disappeared back into the shadows.

My captors had seemed to have fallen into some sort of trance while all of this was going on and I began anew to try and escape my bonds when suddenly an event began to take shape that to this day will be forever burned and etched into my now deteriorating mind. Above, that strange constellation began to burn brighter than ever and seemed to loom larger and closer than it had previously. The presence of the black swirling chaos between the seven stars with its pinprick of light seemed to be just above us and not light years away in space. Then the torches on that horrific hill sputtered out and left the Cove in complete utter darkness and silence. I continued to hear Ruby sob but also began to hear her make strange gurgling, half whimpering and half gibbering sounds.

Then a strange green light began to emanate from the hill casting the Cove in its strange glow. I then noticed Ruby was thoroughly covered with the black and red mud up to her mid waist. I noticed now in her eyes that she had lost all coherence and perception of her surroundings. Then, strange green tendrils of mist began to rise from the hill and swirl about Ruby’s body. I then began to see strange shadow shapes just outside of the range of my vision dance and move about and I began to hear strange chanting from somewhere off in the distance. The wind also had picked up and was blowing into the Cove from the entrance, carrying with it a rotted and fetid stench of decay that nearly choked and gagged me from its repugnance.

Frantically I continued to struggle with the ropes that held me in place when suddenly, above and behind Ruby materialized a horrific specter, cloaked in ragged cloths and bandages with its arms outstretched high and to the heavens, its hooded head thrown back in ecstasy. Then a glowing swirling amber vortex appeared between the specters’ outstretched hands and gained momentum with each passing moment. So transfixed was I, that I forgot about all attempts of escape and watched on in fascination on what was transpiring. Larger and larger the strange vortex grew until suddenly a blood red beam shot out of the center of it and struck Ruby squarely in the small of her back. So violently did she jerk that I audibly heard her spine sickenly snap and break. It was then that Ruby unleashed such a horrific scream that my mind will never forget it. It pierced my soul with the hellish torment that it contained that I know of no words that could ever describe it. No religious sermon or biblical passage detailing the everlasting punishment and the wails of the damned of any afterlife can ever come close to describing what that scream from Ruby’s lips sounded like. To this day that horrific scream haunts my every dream and my every nerve shattered waking moment. Worse than the scream however, was what then came next.

As I watched the diabolical scene atop that cursed mound of hellish mud unravel before my eyes, I then noticed what appeared to look like Ruby being drawn into the vortex. Except the strange mud covering her body held her in place. The blood red beam that had struck her held fast and the vortex continued to swirl ever faster and more maddeningly than ever, and Ruby’s body continued to be tugged and pulled toward the swirling amber chaos until finally her flesh began tear from her frame and her skin began to melt before my eyes. Again Ruby unleashed such a terrible scream my ears could not bear the anguish it held, but so mesmerized was I from the scene that I couldn’t look away. All the while Ruby’s flesh began tear, melt and fall away from her skeletal frame. Blood began to run from her nose and ears. Her teeth shattered and broke from the ferocity of her opening and closing her mouth and pain. Her eyes burst and melted, then ran like tears down her face. Her entrails fell through her now eaten away stomach to the ground in a steaming pile. Muscle and sinew began to show itself as her outer skin blistered and boiled like liquid and sloughed to the ground in lumps of smoldering, festering flesh. Then Ruby’s body began to convulse in some sort of violent orgasmic frenzy to such a degree that I started to hear her bones shatter and break. I then saw what appeared to be a shadow silhouette detach itself from Ruby’s body and be slowly drawn up into the swirling vortex and was immediately consumed.

By this point I knew there was no saving Ruby. Through the tears that were streaming from my eyes I saw what was left of Ruby’s form crumble and collapse in a heap of broken and blasted bones amid the bubbling, festering mounds of her flesh. The blood red beam that had been emitting from the vortex then disappeared. The vortex that had consumed the shadow from Ruby’s body was then shrinking smaller and smaller in the air between the specters’ outstretched hands until finally it had transformed into a small, spherical amber orb that could be held in one hand.

I then saw above in the night sky that the strange darkness within the starry constellation seemed to writhe and move as if somehow alive, and it filled me with such a maelovant and evil feeling that my mind was sent to spinning. Then as if from the bowls of the earth, or maybe it was from that evil cosmic darkness above, I heard what seemed like a whisper spoken to my mind, a whisper that was filled with such a malice and held promises of such horrors that was to be visited upon this world and mankind that my mind finally broke. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and even when the darkness of unconsciousness took me in its embrace, I screamed even more at what it contained.

IX

These final memories and moments of what I experienced at Witch Hill Cove, which I am about to set down on paper, are such a blurry haze of half remembered encounters that I question myself if they ever happened at all. In fact, I hope that a great majority of them were just imaginations of a fevered mind due to my head injury. Though something in the recesses of my mind tell me that all the horrors that I think I witnessed below that abominable Cove, deep in the wilderness of the Tennessee mountains, are in fact real and that mankind could never handle the truth of the horrors that exist in the deep cosmic chaos of space and the evil that lurks upon our very doorstep. How as a race, we are as insignificant to these forces beyond our comprehension as an ant might be insignificant to us.

After witnessing the horrible death of Ruby Beaty upon that mud soaked hill, I was carried screaming and laughing hysterically by my captors to the backside of the hill. Here I noticed an ancient wooden door which was embedded into the hill itself. I remember my captors opening the door which revealed a crude stone staircase descending into the depths of a black abyss beneath the Cove. One of the Indians picked up a torch and lighted it and we proceeded to descend that ancient staircase.

Again, I must state my mind was stressed to the breaking point if not beyond by all that I had witnessed thus far and my mental facilities were frayed. Everything that I witnessed seemed to be in some sort of dream state and was fading in and out of my consciousness it seemed. I recall being lead past chambers filled with hooded figures chanting and conducting all manner of blasphemous acts I dare not recall.

I seem to remember seeing strange rituals being performed upon animals. After the completion of such rituals the animals had seemed to mutate into some kind of larger monstrosity, with rotting skin forming tumors and boils that bled and oozed yellow and green puss, and was in complete control of the cultists. However, from what I saw, some of the animals did not survive the ritual and were left to die in a most hideous fashion.

I remember passing alcoves and forgotten passages that held skeletal remains that were stacked in some bizarre, ritualistic pattern. I glimpsed in shadowed corners broken musket rifles and ragged, rotting pieces of clothing dating back to colonial times. I remember hearing screams of anguish and pain somewhere deep in the bowls of the cavernous earth I was in. All of this was underscored by a stench of decay that seemed to rise out the very depths of the earth itself.

Eventually I was taken to a barren, earthen chamber and left there in utter and complete darkness. I do not remember how much time had passed, or if I slept or stayed awake the entire time. In that darkness I constantly heard cries for help, and screams of horror. I didn’t try to free myself from my bonds or escape in any manner. I just laid there mentally and physically exhausted, unable to do anything.

Then, out of the darkness a light appeared. Again it was my Indian captors come to take me somewhere. I was lifted again by the pole I was strung to and carried to a great earthen chamber that held many of the degenerate Indians and several hooded forms. In the center of this chamber were eight pedestals in a circle. In the middle of this circle was a great yawning, gaping hole that dropped off into some unfathomable depth into the bowels of the earth. At the far side of the room was a dirt mound that overlooked the chamber and everyone in it. At the top of this mound was some sort of, makeshift wooden alter that looked half sunk into the mound. Behind the altar, overlooking everything was a single robed and hooded figure. Upon seeing me, the figure motioned for my captors to bring me up to the altar which they did with post haste.

Setting me down in front of the altar and the hooded figure, the Indians retreated back somewhere into the chamber with the rest of their brethren. The hooded figure peered out over the altar and looked down at me with eyes I could not see. I remember him speaking, and remember that the voice seemed strangely familiar to me as well. The figure said I would make a good vessel to carry on his spirit and the work of Pay. Then he opened a strange looking book that had a bizarre lock on it with a wooden disk he placed in an indention in the cover.

The book’s cover was made from what looked like rotted, worm eaten tree bark and wood, and the pages were not made from paper but from what appeared to be bleached out leaves and other materials. From my position on the ground I could not see what the book contained within its pages but when the hooded figure began to read from its pages what he spoke of I dare not write down specifically. He spoke of the hellish promises of Pay and what was to be delivered to all his faithful once freed from his cosmic prison. The figure began to recite strange phrases in a language that seemed even older than Latin. He went on all the while saying that now was the time to conduct the ceremony that would further weaken the bonds that held Pay in his cosmic prison that the stars could be seen once again and enough spirits had been captured to carry out the ritual.

Below I could hear the Indians and the hooded figures chanting and calling out the name of Ahtunowhiho and Pay simultaneously. I could smell the stench of decay growing stronger, and now I knew that the source of the stench was coming from the yawning hole in the middle of the chamber floor. I noticed several of the hooded figures carrying round misshapen amber orbs, like the one William had shown me in Arkham, up to the pedestals circling the pit and placing them carefully upon their surface. Once all the orbs were in place the chanting grew louder and the congregation began to chant in phrases that I could not comprehend. It was then I noticed something happening inside the pit in the center of the room.

The darkness within that pit began to swirl and churn. It writhed in a manner that was not natural to all the human laws of science and physics. It was then I realized that the darkness was not an area void of light but an IT. It was alive and it was a sentient being of such magnitude and evil that I nearly passed out from the terror of what I was witnessing. I looked on in horror and dread as I knew something dreadful was about to transpire. The darkness churned and roiled in the confines of that pit until I thought it was going spill forth into the chamber itself and consume everything within.

The orbs on the pedestals began to glow brightly with an amber glow and within each one in their center I could see a small hazy shadow moving and twisting. Then each orb began to melt away from around the shadow it contained until suddenly each shadow grew and took on a human shape, each of which stood atop each pedestal. Then from the darkness of the pit, long black tendrils lashed out and entered into each of the humanoid shades. The tendrils began to throb as if they were suctioning something from the shadows themselves into the pit. At this time my wounded hand began to ache horribly and I noticed that the earth itself began to tremble. So struck with fear was I by this point I renewed my attempts to free myself from my captivity. Looking back I still do not know how I managed it, but I somehow freed my wrists from the ropes that were holding me and I quickly proceeded to untie my ankles.

So weak I was from being captured, that when I tried to stand I tumbled down the side of the dirt mound and collided with one of the pedestals at the bottom, knocking it over into the pit. When this happened, the tendrils in the remaining shadows quickly and violently disappeared back into the pit and the earth gave a great shutter and convulsed as if letting out a great sigh toppling the remaining pedestals and dissipating the remaining shadow forms. It seemed also that deep within the pit I heard what sounded like a great roar of anger and outrage.

The chamber suddenly erupted in such an uproar of chaos and confusion from the assembled congregation at my apparent interference with their ceremony that I quickly tried to find a means of escape from the hated masses. Atop the mound the hooded figure behind the altar was shouting in hate filled tones for the congregation to capture me. I then saw that the hood had fallen back from the face of the man behind the altar. Upon seeing his face, I ran in terror out of the chamber down one of the many random exits it contained.

Behind me I could hear the yells and screams of the hate filled Indians giving pursuit. Along the underground tunnels I ran in a blind panic just trying to stay away from my pursuers and never really knowing which or what direction I should be going in. On and on I ran until I reached a section of tunnel where the tunnel floor became muddy with that strange black/red mud. To my feet it clung with such tenacity that it became increasingly difficult to raise my feet from the muck. Behind me I could hear my pursuers drawing ever closer and I started to see shadows within shadows start to form in the darkness. I redoubled my efforts to try and distance myself from the terror that chased me but the mud seemed to be actively hampering my efforts of escape as if it was somehow alive. Onward I pushed, and given strength from the adrenaline rushing through my body I managed to keep going.

Then ahead of me, about fifty yards, I noticed a shaft of pale light streaming down into the tunnel. I chanced a look behind me and noticed that the shadows were drawing nearer and that strange eldritch green tendrils of mist were issuing from the tunnel walls. Turning back towards the shaft of light I ran for all I was worth to reach it. Then suddenly I tripped upon something protruding from the ground and fell face first into the mud. Looking behind me I saw the shadows almost upon me and the green tendrils of mist beginning to envelope me. I screamed the scream of a doomed soul, for I knew it was the end.

Then suddenly I heard a great roar coming from down the tunnel and with a sudden ferocity I was hit with such an onrush of water that I was knocked once again from the realms of consciousness.

X

I awoke in Arkaham General Hospital back in Massachusetts in serious condition due to my sustained injuries. My injuries I was told consisted of severe head trauma, several broken ribs and the most evident, an amputated hand. The hand I had cut on the strange rock shard at the library in Jamestown had became infected with some unknown bacteria that the doctors were unable to treat and it was spreading, so they deemed it best to amputate before the infection spread further. Also, though not an injury, my face and majority of my skin had been pigmented to a ruddy brownish red from mud found smeared on it and the doctors were unable to fully remove or clean it off. I was told I had been in the Fentress County Hospital for well over a week in a deep coma before my condition was deemed stable enough to transfer me back to Arkham for better qualified care.

I was told I was found by an anonymous person in front of two old headstones outside of a ruined stone building in Tennessee that had once served as an inn at one time. The area had also been flooded in water that had erupted from the old stone well that was located on the property and that I was lucky I had not drowned. When I was asked by the authorities what I was doing all the way in Tennessee I related the whole story about William, the place I stayed, Witch Hill Cove, where it was located, what I had experienced there and the fate of poor Ruby Beaty. I also told them that something needed to be done about what was going on and that the strange Indians needed to be dealt with before matters became worse and that there was an evil force trying to destroy our world.

It was when I related to the police and hospital officials about the experiences I had at the Cove they immediately recommended I needed psychiatric evaluation and transferred me to Arkham Asylum which is where I find myself now, two weeks later. The doctors tell me that my story of Witch Hill Cove was undoubtedly a delusional fabrication brought on by mental stress my exams and schoolwork had visited upon me along with the head injuries I had sustained. The police had come back later to tell me that when they tried to verify my story with some of the locals from Jamestown, that many could never recall ever talking to me or ever hearing of a William Bailey or Ruby Beaty. They told me the Cargile Inn was indeed the building where I was found at but that it had burned down ten years ago killing the husband and wife who ran the establishment. They also told me that it was the tombstones of Beryl and Maggie Wright I was found in front of when I was found unconscious.

I was also told that when the townspeople of Jamestown were asked about Witch Hill Cove they disavowed any knowledge of such a place. It just so happens that the area where I claimed the Cove to be located had just been flooded due to a major accident involving the bursting of a dam the TVA was constructing by an earthquake in the area and now everything lies under a newly made lake and that probably explains all the water in the area where I was found at. I was told I was very fortunate to be alive if I was in that area when the dam had burst. This news shocked me greatly and when I tried to frantically tell my story again and that they were overlooking things I was quickly sedated by the Asylum’s doctors.

Later when I regained consciousness I was visited by the dean of Miskatonic University and I related to him my story of William and Witch Hill Cove and the reason for my going to Tennessee. The dean told me that there were no records of a William Bailey ever being enrolled at Miskatonic University and that the police have found no records of a man by that name ever existing. To this news I am not overly surprised due to what I saw in those underground chambers beneath the Cove in those final moments.

Part of me wants to not believe what I experienced in Tennessee, and I had almost convinced myself it was all just some delusion of my frayed and shattered mind. However, today when I was brought my old clothes that were removed when I was admitted to the hospital, I found in one of my pockets the strange wooden disk with its strange symbols and embedded crystals I had found in the cellar of that old burned down church. Now I know it all to be true and that beneath a manmade lake in Tennessee lays an evil more ancient than our world, waiting to be freed from his cosmic prison and wreck his vengeance upon the universe.

Outside, looking through my window in my cell at night, I see shadows dancing within shadows and a strange hooded figure walking the streets outside my room beneath a star filled sky that contains a strange constellation with seven stars circling a strange, empty darkness in space. I know they are coming for me, the followers of Pay or Ahtunowhiho or whatever other name he may be called. They are coming for revenge at my interference and the disruption from me of freeing their god. I hear their chants in my dreams, Absconditus Abbas voco Tui umbra damnatio censura. Eventually they will get to me somehow no matter where I am. That is if the infection in my arm doesn’t kill me first. Despite the doctor’s best efforts to stem the strange infection from my injury, I still see a black substance crawling in my veins and up my arm, ever spreading further in my bloodstream. Still I see the hooded figure looking at me every evening from the street and tonight I saw his face. It is the same face I saw in that chamber before my escape from Witch Hill Cove, the white blond haired, smiling face of William Bailey.