Call of Cthulhu - Investigator Handbook

Originally written by Keith Herber fi is revised 7th Edition is a collaboration between Mike Mason and Paul Fricker Editorial: Scott Dorward, Paul Fricker, Charlie Krank, and Mike Mason Design Format: Badger McInnes, Meghan McLean, and Mike Mason Layout: Badger McInnes, Meghan Mclean, Nicholas Nacario, and Rick Meints Art Direction: Mike Mason and Meghan McLean Cover Illustration: Sam Lamont Chapter Illustrations: Jonathan Wyke, Paul Carrick, François Launet, Victor Leza, Charles Wong, Mike Perry, Mariusz Gandzel, Cyril van der Haegen, and Linda Jones Interior Illustrations: Alberto Bontempi, Rachel Kahn, Grilla, Chris Huth, Paul Carrick, Jonathan Wyke, Robert Hack, Francois Launet, John T. Snyder, Nathan Rosario, Chris Lackey, and Earl Geier Cartography: Stephanie McAlea Cristoforo Font: fi omas Phinney

6 investigator handbook fi e Call of Cthulhu Investigator Handbook fi e authors would like to thank the following people for their ongoing support and assistance: Charlie Krank, Keary Birch, Alan Bligh, John French, Matt Anderson, Scott Dorward, Dean Engelhardt, Matthew Sanderson, Tim Vincent, Garrie Hall, Dan Kramer, and of course Sandy Petersen, without whom none of this would have happened! Clear Credit fi is book was developed and written by Mike Mason and Paul Fricker. Mike Mason wrote and revised the Occupations and Investigator Organizations, with development and additional material from Paul Fricker. Life as an Investigator and fi e Roaring Twenties revised with additional material by Mike Mason. Paul Fricker and Mike Mason wrote Advice for Players. fi e Equipment Lists were revised and updated by Mike Mason with assistance from Dan Kramer. Paul Fricker revised the Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition rules with development and additional material from Mike Mason. 7th Edition investigator sheets designed by Dean Engelhardt. Updated equipment costs were provided by Mike Mason and Dan Kramer. Joe Schillizzi also helped with the revised weapon tables. fi is book additionally draws from earlier publications, including fi e Investigator’s Companion Vol. 1 & 2, as well as previous editions of the Call of Cthulhu rules. fi e following authors’ work has been used or revised in this current edition: Sandy Petersen, Lynn Willis, Keith Herber, Kevin Ross, Mark Morrison, William Hamblin, Scott David Aniolowski, Michael Tice, Shannon Appel, Eric Rowe, Bruce Ballon, William G. Dunn, Sam Johnson, Brian M. Sammons, Jan Engan, Bill Barton, Les Brooks, Gregory Rucka, Gary O’Connell, John Crowe, Kenneth Faig Jr., Justin Hynes, Andrew Leman, Paul McConnell, Ann Merritt, Lucya Szachnowski, and friends. Tony Williams assisted with Cristoforo font typesetting. Period photographs were taken from Wiki Commons or Flickr Commons are in public domain. Call of Cthulhu is published by Chaosium Inc. Call of Cthulhu (7th Edition) is copyright ©1981, 1983, 1992, 1993, 1995, 1998, 1999, 2001, 2004, 2005, 2013, 2014 by Chaosium Inc.; all rights reserved. Call of Cthulhu® is the registered trademark of Chaosium Inc. Similarities between characters in Call of Cthulhu and persons living or dead are strictly coincidental. fi e reproduction of material from within this book for the purposes of personal or corporate proff t, by photographic, optical, electronic, or other media or methods of storage and retrieval, is prohibited. Address questions and comments by mail to: Chaosium, Inc. 3450 Wooddale Court Ann Arbor, MI 48104 U.S.A. Please do not phone in game questions; the quickest answer may not be the best answer. Our web site www.chaosium. com always contains latest release information and current prices. Chaosium Publication 23136 ISBN 9781568824314 Published in October 2015. Printed in Germany. Follow Chaosium on Twitter @Chaosium_Inc Find Chaosium on Facebook www.facebook.com/ChaosiumInc

7 investigator handbook For Lynn Willis

Chapter One: Introduction 10 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Example of Play . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 What You Need to Play Call of Cthulhu. . . . . . 15 Chapter Two: The Dunwich Horror 18 Chapter Three: Creating Investigators 40 fi e Steps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 What the Numbers Mean . . . . . . . . . . . 46 Example of Investigator Creation . . . . . . 47 Period Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .54-55 Other Ways of Creating Investigators (Optional Rules) . . . . . . . . 58 Quick Reference Chart for Half and Fiff h Values . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Quick Reference: Investigator Generation . . . . . . . . . . . .64-65 Chapter Four: Occupations 66 List of Occupations . . . . . . . . . . . . .68-69 Chapter Five: Skills 94 Skill List. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Living Standards . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102 Becoming a Believer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Optional Rules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 Chapter Six: Investigator Organizations 122 Sample Investigators. . . . . . . . . . . 130-141 Members of fi e Society for the Exploration of the Unexplained . . . . 142-145 Chapter Seven: Life As An Investigator 146 Monster Size Comparison Charts . . . 158-159 Chapter Eight: The Roaring Twenties 160 Chronology of the Roaring Twenties . . . 166-167 Useful Information for 1920s Investigators . . . . 168 1920s Biographies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 Notable Libraries and Museums . . . . . . . 202 Chapter Nine: Advice For Players 208 Setting the Scene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 Rules Advice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 Chapter Ten: Reference 224 A Hundred Years and More. . . . . . . . . . 226 Speeds and Distances . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236 Equipment, Travel & Weapons: 1920s . . . . 238 Modern Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247 Weapons Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250 Converting from Previous Editions . . . . . 256 Map of Arkham . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260 Map of Lovecraff Country . . . . . . . . . . 261 Index 262 Investigator Sheets 1920s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 266-267 Modern-Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268-269 Acknowledgements Playtesters. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 270 Kickstarter Backers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271 TABLE OF CONTENTS investigator handbook

12 investigator handbook Introduction elcome to the Call of Cthulhu Investigator Handbook! Call of Cthulhu is a game full of secrets, mysteries, and horror. Playing the role of a steadfast investigator, you will travel to strange and dangerous places, uncover foul plots, and stand against the terrors of the night. You will encounter sanityblasting entities, monsters, and insane cultists. Within strange and forgotten tomes of lore you will ff nd secrets that man was not meant to know. You and your companions may very well decide the fate of the world… Call of Cthulhu is a horror roleplaying game based on the writings of Howard Phillips Lovecraffl . Lovecraffl penned a tremendous body of work during the 1920s and 1930s concerning both horrors from beyond and from within. Following his death in 1937, Lovecraffl ’s stories of cosmic horror have grown in reputation and stature, and today he is recognized as a major American horror story writer of the twentieth century, inffi uencing numerous authors, ff lm directors, and amassing a huge following of devoted fans. Indeed Lovecraffl himself could now be considered a cult ff gure in his own right. Lovecraffl ’s ff ction ranges from science ff ction to gothic horror and into nihilistic cosmic terror— perfect material on which to base a roleplaying game. Lovecraffl ’s most famous invention has become known as the Cthulhu Mythos, a series of stories sharing common plot elements such as certain mythical books of arcane lore and alien godlike entities. fi e Cthulhu Mythos ff red the imagination of other authors, mostly protégés and friends of Lovecraffl , and soon they were adding to this complex mythology, further advancing its concepts and constituent parts. Today "Cthulhu" stories are still being written (and ff lmed) by the heirs to Lovecraffl ’s literary legacy. Do not be concerned if you’ve never read one of Lovecraffl ’s stories or don't know anything about the Cthulhu Mythos; such information will unfold during the game. A lot of the fun is to be found in discovering secrets and unraveling the mysteries set up by the Keeper of Arcane Lore, who "referees" the game. About this Book fi is book has been written for people who will be playing the roles of investigators in Call of Cthulhu games, and contains rules for creating investigator characters and a guide to playing, which includes information for games set in the era of H.P. Lovecraffl ’s stories—the 1920s—as well as contemporary settings. As well as this book, you will need gaming dice, pencils, notepaper, and some friends—one person must have the Call of Cthulhu Keeper Rulebook and act as the Keeper of Arcane Lore for the game. Purpose of the Game fi e aim of playing Call of Cthulhu is to have fun with your friends as you explore and create a Lovecraffl ian story. Players take the role of intrepid investigators of the unknown ("investigators"), attempting to seek out, understand, and eventually destroy the horrors, mysteries, and secrets of the Cthulhu Mythos. A game moderator, known as the Keeper of Arcane Lore ("Keeper"), is necessary for this game, and his or her role is, within the rules of the game, to set up situations for the players to confront. fi e investigators need not be anything at all like the people who play them. Indeed, it is offl en more rewarding and enjoyable for players to create characters entirely unlike themselves: tough private eyes, rude taxi drivers, or sinisterly genteel occultists. Most of the play is a verbal exchange. fi e Keeper sets the scene, describing the environment, the individuals, and encounters to the players. fi e players tell the Keeper what they intend their investigators to do. fi e Keeper then tells them whether they can do it, and, if not, what happens instead. In play the game takes the form of a group conversation with many twists and turns and fun on the way. fi e game rules use dice to determine if an action succeeds or fails when a dramatic conffi ict presents itself; for example, whether your investigators are able to leap out of the way of giant statue that is about to crash down upon their heads! fi e rules describe how to decide the outcome of such conffi icts. Read Me First— How to Use this Book If you are new to Call of Cthulhu, we recommend you read this Introduction all the way through (especially the Example of Play on pages 13— 15), followed by The Dunwich Horror story by H.P. Lovecraft (page 18), before reading through the rest of the book. However, if you are already familiar with H.P. Lovecraft and previous versions of the Call of Cthulhu game, you will probably want to jump straight in at Chapter 3: Creating Investigators and read on from there.

13 chapter 1: introduction Cooperation and Competition Gaming is a social pastime. If you want to use your imagination alone, you could simply read a book. However, be warned! When a number of people get together cooperatively, they build a communal fantasy far more interesting and imaginative than a single person could—and the joint efl ort results in an extremely fun and satisfying experience for all involved. Together you create and develop a story in which each of your investigators plays a leading role! Whether or not investigators cooperate, the players should. Investigators may be played as nice people, as devious brutes, or however the players wish. Most of the entertainment of the game can be found in the ingenuity of players’ roleplaying and in-character conversations. Working cooperatively together, along with the Keeper, builds an enjoyable and understandable game world within which to play. fi e rewards of cooperation are great. Remember, the object of all of this is to have fun! Winners and Losers In Call of Cthulhu, there are no winners and losers in the standard competitive sense. Play is usually cooperative, the participants working together to attain a common goal—usually to discover and foil some nefarious plot being perpetrated by the minions of some dark cult or secret society. fi e opposition that the investigators face will offl en be alien or hostile—controlled by an impartial Keeper. It’s the Keeper’s job to run the game and they will have prepared a scenario (either a published adventure or one written by the Keeper) for you and the other players to play through. Winning in such a situation depends on whether the investigators succeed in their goal. Losing is what happens if they fail to achieve their goal (though they may be able to try again later). During the game investigators may become injured, sufl er sanity-shattering experiences, or even die! However, someone has to make a stand against the cosmic horrors of the universe, and the death of a single investigator matters little if it means repulsing Cthulhu’s master plan to enslave the Earth! Investigators who survive will gain power from arcane volumes of forgotten lore, knowledge of horrendous monsters, and advancement in their skills as they become more experienced. fi us the players’ investigators will continue to progress, until their demise or retirement—whichever comes ff rst. Example of Play If you’ve never played a roleplaying game before, you might still be wondering just how it all works. fi e following example of play provides an illustration of a typical gaming session. Don't worry about some of the terms used, as you’ll become better acquainted with them as you begin to play the game. Paula, Joe, Cathy, and Arnold are the players, each of them controlling an investigator. Garrie is in the role of Keeper and is running the game (leading the story and controlling the non-player characters and monsters in the game). Notice that though the players have difl erent ways of referring to their characters, Garrie the Keeper easily sorts out their statements and feels no need for consistency. We join the game in mid-session… (GARRIE) KEEPER: You have arrived just before closing time at the library. fi ere’s hardly anyone around. In fact everyone seems to be leaving. You notice that a female librarian is sitting behind the checking desk. Well guys, what’s your plan? PAULA: I want to speak to the librarian. I think the rest of you should wait here. All the investigators agree to Paula’s plan. (GARRIE) KEEPER: You make your way to the desk. fi e woman behind it appears to be stamping a pile of books. She is middle-aged, wears large spectacles, and has an annoyed look on her face. PAULA: Err, ahem. I clear my throat to get her attention and give her a winning smile. (GARRIE) KEEPER: She looks up at you with an even more annoyed look on her face. She stares at you and says, “It's closing time you know.” PAULA: “I’m very sorry, but I wonder if you can help me,” Paula asks in a polite tone, with smile on her lips. “Can you direct me to the local history section? It really is most urgent.” JOE: Okay, while Paula's investigator is talking to the woman at the desk, I’m going to look for the section on occult books. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Just hang on a moment Joe; I’ll get to you in a second. Paula, she winces and points her hand to the big stack of shelves two rows down. She then says, “Down there. You’ve got ten minutes and then I’m locking up for the night.” Right Joe, you look about at the signs and see that there is a section called "Mysteries and the Supernatural" down the aisle. You want to go look? In Call of Cthulhu, the players play investigators

14 investigator handbook JOE: Sure I do! CATHY: My private eye, Jake, is going to wait near the main entrance and keep an eye out. ARNOLD: I’m going with Joe. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Paula, you get to the local history section. What do you want to look for? PAULA: I want to see if I can ff nd anything on the Cult of the Green Flame, and also if there’s a history of incidents at the local graveyard. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Okay. Can you give me a Library Use roll? PAULA: Right. Paula rolls two ten-sided dice. I rolled 34, under my Library Use skill of 40. What did I ff nd? (GARRIE) KEEPER: Cool. You search over the shelves and come across a book called "Local Legends and Ghosts." It looks like it has a whole chapter on Burke’s Cemetery. You’ll need to check it out soon as your ten minutes are nearly up. JOE: So have me and Arnold found anything? Shall we make rolls? (GARRIE) KEEPER: Well, just as you arrive at the mysteries section you see a strange-looking man in a trench coat. He appears to be examining an old book. He suddenly notices you and quickly disappears down the end of the stack. ARNOLD: He’s up to something! Did I recognize him from the bar we visited last night? (GARRIE) KEEPER: It’s hard to say as you didn’t get a good look at him. However you probably think there’s some resemblance. ARNOLD: Right, I’m sure it’s the guy that’s been following us! I’m running affl er him! JOE: Yes! Ofl we go! (GARRIE) KEEPER: Okay. I’m going to cut to Paula and then back to you guys. Paula, are you heading to the checkout desk? PAULA: Yes I want the librarian to issue me the book. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Fine. Arnold and Joe, you run round the back of the shelves and the man is waiting for you. He’s holding the old book and there’s a twinkle in his eye, and a sort of grin on his face. ARNOLD: I didn’t expect that. I hold up and look at the man. What’s he doing with the book? JOE: Can I make a Psychology roll to see if I understand his intent? (GARRIE) KEEPER: Yes, make the roll. Arnold, he’s just holding the book ff rmly in both hands. JOE: I made it; I rolled under half my Psychology skill. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Well he looks like he wants to say something to you. He gestures with the book for you to come closer. JOE: Okay, I move towards him, “How can I help you?” ARNOLD: I’m waiting back to see what happens. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Cut to Paula. fi e librarian checks out your book and pointedly asks you and your friends to leave as she’s locking up now. PAULA: Fine. I go to look for Joe and Arnold. CATHY: Is Jake aware of what’s going on with Arnold and Joe? (GARRIE) KEEPER: Not really. You do see Paula's investigator go ofl in the direction they went. CATHY: I’m going to follow Paula. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Right, Joe. As you edge closer to the man you begin to notice a ff shy smell. He looks at you with his big watery eyes and says, (the Keeper drops his voice here) “I saw you last night asking questions that don't concern you. I advise you to stop poking your noses into places they don’t belong.” JOE: “Urgh! I’m not scared by you! What’s it to you who we talk to anyway?” What are you doing in the restricted section!?

15 chapter 1: introduction ARNOLD: Careful! (GARRIE) KEEPER: He smiles again and says, “Oh, I’m not important, but there’s some who take a very dim view of nosey people.” JOE: I want to ff nd out what he knows. I grab his coat lapels and lean into his face saying, “Tell me what you know, old man.” (GARRIE) KEEPER: Sounds like you are trying to intimidate him. Make an Intimidate roll. JOE: I failed it. Can I push the roll? I stare into his eyes and go nose to nose with him, telling him that I’ll hurt him if he doesn’t start talking. (GARRIE) KEEPER: Sure you can. Of course, if you fail the pushed roll something bad is going to happen… JOE: Heck, I did fail the pushed roll! Oh no… ARNOLD: I told you to be careful! (GARRIE) KEEPER: You stare into his eyes and threaten him, when suddenly he throws his head violently forward, head-butting you. You reel back and blood begins to pour from your nose. He throws the book up into air and runs. Mark ofl two hit points damage. Paula and Cathy, you arrive at this moment. Arnold what are you doing? ALL (in confusion): I’m running affl er him! I’m trying to catch the book! What’s going on?! I’m shouting for help! Do they catch up to the strange, fi shy smelling man? What was in the book that he was holding? What’s going on at Burke’s Cemetery? Who doesn’t want more questions asked? What this Game Covers Likewise are there dread survivals of things older and more potent than man; things that have blasphemously straggled down through the aeons to ages never meant for them; monstrous entities that have lain sleeping endlessly in incredible crypts and remote caverns, outside the laws of reason and causation, and ready to be waked by such blasphemers as shall know their dark forbidden signs and furtive passwords. —H.P. Lovecraffl and William Lumley, ff e Diary of Alonzo Typer Many Call of Cthulhu scenarios are set in the United States in the 1920s—called the Classic Era—in which most of Lovecraffl ’s tales were set. To Lovecraffl the 1920s were modern-day and so this book uses both the Classic Era and our own Modern-Day as period settings. Many supplements and published scenarios exist for difl erent eras, including Gaslight Victorian and the Dark Ages. fi e Cthulhu Mythos transcends all time and space, and the unfathomable machinations of the mysterious Old Ones could spill into any conceivable setting or historical period. What You Need to Play Call of Cthulhu When you are ready to begin playing Call of Cthulhu, you only need a few things to start: G fi e Call of Cthulhu Rulebook—only needed by the Keeper. G Roleplaying dice. G Paper. G Pencils and an eraser. G Two or more people to game with—one person must play the role of Keeper. G A quiet place (the kitchen table is a good place to start). G fi ree or four hours in which to play the game. What lurks within?

16 investigator handbook Roleplaying Dice As mentioned, to play this game the Keeper and players will need a set of roleplaying dice, including: percentage dice (D100), a four-sided die (D4), a six-sided die (D6), an eightsided die (D8), and a twenty-sided die (D20). Ideally, to keep things moving along, players and Keeper should each have their own set of dice. People new to roleplaying may never have seen dice with more than six sides. A variety of them can be found at most hobby game stores and online—probably including the place where you bought this book. fi e letter D stands for the word "die" or dice. fi e number affl er the D stands for the range of random numbers sought: D8 generates the random numbers 1 through 8, for instance, while D100 generates the numbers 1–100. fi e dice are used to indicate how many hit points were lost to an attack, to generate investigators, or to determine sanity loss, etc. Reading the D100 (Percentile Dice) Percentage dice (as the abbreviation D100 means) usually consist of two 10-sided dice rolled at the same time. fi ese dice are sold as a pair, one (units die) being numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0, the other (tens die) being numbered 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90, 00. When rolled, read the top numbers on the dice to get the result. fi e single digit is the units, the double digit the tens, and you read them together. A roll of 00 on the tens die combined with a 0 on the units die indicates a result of 100. A roll of 00 on the tens die combined with any other roll on the units die indicates a roll of under 10; for example, a roll of 00 on the tens die and 3 on the units die would be read as 3%. Alternatively use two "units" dice of difl erent colors, each numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0. Read the die of one color consistently as the tens-digit and the other as the units-digit: thus a result of 2 and 3 reads as 23, a result of 0 and 1 reads as 1, and a result of 1 and 0 reads as 10. A result of 0 and 0 reads as 100. Dice roll variations Sometimes a dice notation in the rules or in a scenario is preceded by a number: it tells the reader that more than one such die should be rolled and that their results should be added together. For instance, 2D6 means that two 6-sided dice should be rolled and totaled (or roll a D6 twice and add the scores together). Sometimes additions are shown to die rolls. You might see 1D6+1, for instance. fi is means that the number following the plus sign should be added to the result of the D6 roll. For 1D6+1 the result must be 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, or 7. A notation may require that difl erent dice be rolled at one time. If a monster claws for 1D6+1+2D4 damage, ff nd the power of the actual attack by rolling the three requested dice, totaling the results, and adding one (thus, rolling 1D6 and 2D4 (1D4 and another 1D4) and adding 1 to the total rolled). fi e notation "damage bonus" or "DB" appended to attack damage reminds the Keeper and players to add the monster’s or investigator’s damage bonus to the dice rolled. The Investigator Sheet Players should record their investigators on investigator sheets, found near the back of this book and ready to photocopy (see page 266-269). You can also ff nd downloadable versions at the Chaosium website at www. chaosium.com. fi ere are versions for the 1920s and Modern-Day games. fi e investigator sheet holds all the information needed for investigators to tackle mysteries. Chapter 3: Creating Investigators explains how to ff ll out this sheet. ff e dice used to play Call of Cthulhu

17 chapter 1: introduction

20 investigator handbook H.P.L. believed that ff e Dunwich Horror was “so ff endish that Farnsworth Wright may not dare print it.” Fortunately for us (and Lovecraffl , as he received a check worth $2,800 in today’s dollars), it was published in the April 1929 issue of Weird Tales. fi e story introduced the Outer God YogSothoth to the Cthulhu Mythos as well as the degenerate Whateley family who served him. fi e librarian Henry Armitage is a prime example of a Call of Cthulhu investigator: he discovers the horrible truth that lies behind the veil of reality but he decides to ff ght against it instead of running away (as is normal for most Lovecraffl ian tales). “Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimaeras—dire stories of Celaeno and the Harpies—may reproduce themselves in the brain of superstition—but they were there before. ff ey are transcripts, types—the archetypes are in us, and eternal. How else should the recital of that which we know in a waking sense to be false come to affl ect us at all? Is it that we naturally conceive terror from such objects, considered in their capacity of being able to inffi ict upon us bodily injury? O, least of all! ff ese terrors are of older standing. ff ey date beyond body—or without the body, they would have been the same. . . . ff at the kind of fear here treated is purely spiritual—that it is strong in proportion as it is objectless on earth, that it predominates in the period of our sinless infancy—are difl culties the solution of which might affl ord some probable insight into our ante-mundane condition, and a peep at least into the shadowland of pre-existence.” —Charles Lamb: Witches and Other Night-Fears I. hen a traveller in north central Massachusetts takes the wrong fork at the junction of the Aylesbury pike just beyond Dean’s Corners he comes upon a lonely and curious country. fi e ground gets higher, and the brierbordered stone walls press closer and closer against the ruts of the dusty, curving road. fi e trees of the frequent forest belts seem too large, and the wild weeds, brambles, and grasses attain a luxuriance not offl en found in settled regions. At the same time the planted ff elds appear singularly few and barren; while the sparsely scattered houses wear a surprisingly uniform aspect of age, squalor, and dilapidation. Without knowing why, one hesitates to ask directions from the gnarled, solitary ff gures spied now and then on crumbling doorsteps or on the sloping, rock-strewn meadows. fi ose ff gures are so silent and furtive that one feels somehow confronted by forbidden things, with which it would be better to have nothing to do. When a rise in the road brings the mountains in view above the deep woods, the feeling of strange uneasiness is increased. fi e summits are too rounded and symmetrical to give a sense of comfort and naturalness, and sometimes the sky silhouettes with especial clearness the queer circles of tall stone pillars with which most of them are crowned. Gorges and ravines of problematical depth intersect the way, and the crude wooden bridges always seem of dubious safety. When the road dips again there are stretches of marshland that one instinctively dislikes, and indeed almost fears at evening when unseen whippoorwills chatter and the ff reffi ies come out in abnormal profusion to dance to the raucous, creepily insistent rhythms of stridently piping bull-frogs. fi e thin, shining line of the Miskatonic’s upper reaches has an oddly serpent-like suggestion as it winds close to the feet of the domed hills among which it rises. As the hills draw nearer, one heeds their wooded sides more than their stone-crowned tops. fi ose sides loom up so darkly and precipitously that one wishes they would keep their distance, but there is no road by which to escape them. Across a covered bridge one sees a small village huddled between the stream and the vertical slope of Round Mountain, and wonders at the cluster of rotting gambrel roofs bespeaking an earlier architectural period than that of the neighbouring region. It is not reassuring to see, on a closer glance, that most of the houses are deserted and falling to ruin, and that the broken-steepled church now harbours the one slovenly mercantile establishment of the hamlet. One dreads to trust the tenebrous tunnel of the bridge, yet there is no way to avoid it. Once across, it is hard to prevent the impression of a faint, malign odour about the village street, as of the massed mould and decay of centuries. It is always a relief to get clear of the place, and to follow the narrow road around the base of the hills and across the level country beyond till it rejoins the Aylesbury pike. Affl erward one sometimes learns that one has been through Dunwich. Outsiders visit Dunwich as seldom as possible, and since a certain season of horror all the signboards pointing toward it have been taken down. fi e scenery, judged by any ordinary aesthetic canon, is more than commonly beautiful; yet there is no inffi ux of artists or summer tourists. Two centuries ago, when talk of witch-blood, Satan-worship, and strange forest presences was not laughed at, it was the custom to give reasons for avoiding the locality. In our sensible age—since the Dunwich horror of 1928 was hushed up by those who had the town’s and the world’s welfare at heart—people shun it without knowing exactly why. Perhaps one reason—though it cannot apply to uninformed strangers—is that the natives are now repellently decadent, having gone far along that path of retrogression so common in many New England backwaters. fi ey have come to form a race by themselves, with the well-deff ned mental and physical stigmata of degeneracy and inbreeding. fi e average of their intelligence is woefully low, whilst their annals reek of overt viciousness and of halfhidden murders, incests, and deeds of almost unnamable violence and perversity. fi e old gentry, representing the two or three armigerous families which came from Salem in 1692, have kept somewhat above the general level of decay; though many branches are sunk into the sordid populace so

21 chapter 2: the dunwich horror deeply that only their names remain as a key to the origin they disgrace. Some of the Whateleys and Bishops still send their eldest sons to Harvard and Miskatonic, though those sons seldom return to the mouldering gambrel roofs under which they and their ancestors were born. No one, even those who have the facts concerning the recent horror, can say just what is the matter with Dunwich; though old legends speak of unhallowed rites and conclaves of the Indians, amidst which they called forbidden shapes of shadow out of the great rounded hills, and made wild orgiastic prayers that were answered by loud crackings and rumblings from the ground below. In 1747 the Reverend Abijah Hoadley, newly come to the Congregational Church at Dunwich Village, preached a memorable sermon on the close presence of Satan and his imps; in which he said: “It must be allow’d, that these Blasphemies of an infernall Train of Daemons are Matters of too common Knowledge to be deny’d; the cursed Voices of Azazel and Buzrael, of Beelzebub and Belial, being heard now from under Ground by above a Score of credible Witnesses now living. I my self did not more than a Fortnight ago catch a very plain Discourse of evill Powers in the Hill behind my House; wherein there were a Rattling and Rolling, Groaning, Screeching, and Hissing, such as no fi ings of this Earth cou’d raise up, and which must needs have come from those Caves that only black Magick can discover, and only the Divell unlock.” Mr. Hoadley disappeared soon affl er delivering this sermon; but the text, printed in Springff eld, is still extant. Noises in the hills continued to be reported from year to year, and still form a puzzle to geologists and physiographers. Other traditions tell of foul odours near the hill-crowning circles of stone pillars, and of rushing airy presences to be heard faintly at certain hours from stated points at the bottom of the great ravines; while still others try to explain the Devil’s Hop Yard—a bleak, blasted hillside where no tree, shrub, or grass-blade will grow. fi en too, the natives are mortally afraid of the numerous whippoorwills which grow vocal on warm nights. It is vowed that the birds are psychopomps lying in wait for the souls of the dying, and that they time their eerie cries in unison with the sufl erer’s struggling breath. If they can catch the ffi eeing soul when it leaves the body, they instantly ffi utter away chittering in daemoniac laughter; but if they fail, they subside gradually into a disappointed silence. fi ese tales, of course, are obsolete and ridiculous; because they come down from very old times. Dunwich is indeed ridiculously old—older by far than any of the communities within thirty miles of it. South of the village one may still spy the cellar walls and chimney of the ancient Bishop house, which was built before 1700; whilst the ruins of the mill at the falls, built in 1806, form the most modern piece of architecture to be seen. Industry did not ffi ourish here, and the nineteenth-century factory movement proved short-lived. Oldest of all are the great rings of rough-hewn stone columns on the hill-tops, but these are more generally attributed to the Indians than to the settlers. Deposits of skulls and bones, found within these circles and around the sizeable table-like rock on Sentinel Hill, sustain the popular belief that such spots were once the burial-places of the Pocumtucks; even though many ethnologists, disregarding the absurd improbability of such a theory, persist in believing the remains Caucasian. II. It was in the township of Dunwich, in a large and partly inhabited farmhouse set against a hillside four miles from the village and a mile and a half from any other dwelling, that Wilbur Whateley was born at 5 a.m. on Sunday, the second of February, 1913. fi is date was recalled because it was Candlemas, which people in Dunwich curiously observe under another name; and because the noises in the hills had sounded, and all the dogs of the countryside had barked persistently, throughout the night before. Less worthy of notice was the fact that the mother was one of the decadent Whateleys, a somewhat deformed, unattractive albino woman of thirty-ff ve, living with an aged and half-insane father about whom the most frightful tales of wizardry had been whispered in his youth. Lavinia Whateley had no known husband, but according to the custom of the region made no attempt to disavow the child; concerning the other side of whose ancestry the country folk might—and did—speculate as widely as they chose. On the contrary, she seemed strangely proud of the dark, goatish-looking infant who formed such a contrast to her own sickly and pink-eyed

22 investigator handbook albinism, and was heard to mutter many curious prophecies about its unusual powers and tremendous future. Lavinia was one who would be apt to mutter such things, for she was a lone creature given to wandering amidst thunderstorms in the hills and trying to read the great odorous books which her father had inherited through two centuries of Whateleys, and which were fast falling to pieces with age and wormholes. She had never been to school, but was ff lled with disjointed scraps of ancient lore that Old Whateley had taught her. fi e remote farmhouse had always been feared because of Old Whateley’s reputation for black magic, and the unexplained death by violence of Mrs. Whateley when Lavinia was twelve years old had not helped to make the place popular. Isolated among strange inffi uences, Lavinia was fond of wild and grandiose day-dreams and singular occupations; nor was her leisure much taken up by household cares in a home from which all standards of order and cleanliness had long since disappeared. fi ere was a hideous screaming which echoed above even the hill noises and the dogs’ barking on the night Wilbur was born, but no known doctor or midwife presided at his coming. Neighbours knew nothing of him till a week affl erward, when Old Whateley drove his sleigh through the snow into Dunwich Village and discoursed incoherently to the group of loungers at Osborn’s general store. fi ere seemed to be a change in the old man—an added element of furtiveness in the clouded brain which subtly transformed him from an object to a subject of fear—though he was not one to be perturbed by any common family event. Amidst it all he shewed some trace of the pride later noticed in his daughter, and what he said of the child’s paternity was remembered by many of his hearers years affl erward. “I dun’t keer what folks think—ef Lavinny’s boy looked like his pa, he wouldn’t look like nothin’ ye expeck. Ye needn’t think the only folks is the folks hereabaouts. Lavinny’s read some, an’ has seed some things the most o’ ye only tell abaout. I calc’late her man is as good a husban’ as ye kin ff nd this side of Aylesbury; an’ ef ye knowed as much abaout the hills as I dew, ye wouldn’t ast no better church weddin’ nor her’n. Let me tell ye suthin’—some day yew folks’ll hear a child o’ Lavinny’s a-callin’ its father’s name on the top o’ Sentinel Hill!” fi e only persons who saw Wilbur during the ff rst month of his life were old Zechariah Whateley, of the undecayed Whateleys, and Earl Sawyer’s common-law wife, Mamie Bishop. Mamie’s visit was frankly one of curiosity, and her subsequent tales did justice to her observations; but Zechariah came to lead a pair of Alderney cows which Old Whateley had bought of his son Curtis. fi is marked the beginning of a course of cattlebuying on the part of small Wilbur’s family which ended only in 1928, when the Dunwich horror came and went; yet at no time did the ramshackle Whateley barn seem overcrowded with livestock. fi ere came a period when people were curious enough to steal up and count the herd that grazed precariously on the steep hillside above the old farmhouse, and they could never ff nd more than ten or twelve anaemic, bloodlesslooking specimens. Evidently some blight or distemper, perhaps sprung from the unwholesome pasturage or the diseased fungi and timbers of the ff lthy barn, caused a heavy mortality amongst the Whateley animals. Odd wounds or sores, having something of the aspect of incisions, seemed to a ict the visible cattle; and once or twice during the earlier months certain callers fancied they could discern similar sores about the throats of the grey, unshaven old man and his slatternly, crinkly-haired albino daughter. In the spring affl er Wilbur’s birth Lavinia resumed her customary rambles in the hills, bearing in her misproportioned arms the swarthy child. Public interest in the Whateleys subsided affl er most of the country folk had seen the baby, and no one bothered to comment on the swiffl development which that newcomer seemed every day to exhibit. Wilbur’s growth was indeed phenomenal, for within three months of his birth he had attained a size and muscular power not usually found in infants under a full year of age. His motions and even his vocal sounds shewed a restraint and deliberateness highly peculiar in an infant, and no one was really unprepared when, at seven months, he began to walk unassisted, with falterings which another month was su cient to remove. It was somewhat affl er this time—on Hallowe’en—that a great blaze was seen at midnight on the top of Sentinel Hill where the old table-like stone stands amidst its tumulus of ancient bones. Considerable talk was started when Silas Bishop—of the undecayed Bishops—mentioned having seen the boy running sturdily up that hill ahead of his mother about an hour before the blaze was remarked. Silas was rounding up a stray heifer, but he nearly forgot his mission when he ffi eetingly spied the two ff gures in the dim light of his lantern. fi ey darted almost noiselessly through the underbrush, and the astonished watcher seemed to think they were entirely unclothed. Affl erward he could not be sure about the boy, who may have had some kind of a fringed belt and a pair of dark trunks or trousers on. Wilbur was never subsequently seen alive and conscious without complete and tightly buttoned attire, the disarrangement or threatened disarrangement of which always seemed to ff ll him with anger and alarm. His contrast with his squalid mother and grandfather in this respect was thought very notable until the horror of 1928 suggested the most valid of reasons. investigator handbook albinism, and was heard to mutter many curious prophecies about its unusual Lavinia was one who would be apt to mutter such things, for she was a lone creature given to wandering amidst thunderstorms in the hills and trying to read the great odorous books which her father had inherited through two centuries of Whateleys, and which were fast falling to pieces with age and wormholes. She had never been to school, but was ff lled with disjointed scraps of ancient lore that Old Whateley had taught her. fi e remote farmhouse had always been feared because of Old Whateley’s reputation for black magic, and the unexplained death by violence of Mrs. Whateley when Lavinia was twelve years old had not helped to make the place popular. Isolated did the ramshackle Whateley barn seem overcrowded with livestock. fi ere came a period when people were curious enough to steal up and count the herd that grazed precariously on the steep hillside above the old farmhouse, and they could never ff nd more than ten or twelve anaemic, bloodlesslooking specimens. Evidently some blight or distemper, perhaps sprung from the unwholesome pasturage or the diseased fungi and timbers of the ff lthy barn, caused a heavy mortality amongst the Whateley animals. Odd wounds or sores, having something of the aspect of incisions, seemed to a ict the visible cattle; and once or twice during the earlier months certain callers fancied

23 chapter 2: the dunwich horror fi e next January gossips were mildly interested in the fact that “Lavinny’s black brat” had commenced to talk, and at the age of only eleven months. His speech was somewhat remarkable both because of its difl erence from the ordinary accents of the region, and because it displayed a freedom from infantile lisping of which many children of three or four might well be proud. fi e boy was not talkative, yet when he spoke he seemed to reffi ect some elusive element wholly unpossessed by Dunwich and its denizens. fi e strangeness did not reside in what he said, or even in the simple idioms he used; but seemed vaguely linked with his intonation or with the internal organs that produced the spoken sounds. His facial aspect, too, was remarkable for its maturity; for though he shared his mother’s and grandfather’s chinlessness, his ff rm and precociously shaped nose united with the expression of his large, dark, almost Latin eyes to give him an air of quasi-adulthood and well-nigh preternatural intelligence. He was, however, exceedingly ugly despite his appearance of brilliancy; there being something almost goatish or animalistic about his thick lips, large-pored, yellowish skin, coarse crinkly hair, and oddly elongated ears. He was soon disliked even more decidedly than his mother and grandsire, and all conjectures about him were spiced with references to the bygone magic of Old Whateley, and how the hills once shook when he shrieked the dreadful name of Yog-Sothoth in the midst of a circle of stones with a great book open in his arms before him. Dogs abhorred the boy, and he was always obliged to take various defensive measures against their barking menace. III. Meanwhile Old Whateley continued to buy cattle without measurably increasing the size of his herd. He also cut timber and began to repair the unused parts of his house—a spacious, peaked-roofed afl air whose rear end was buried entirely in the rocky hillside, and whose three least-ruined ground- ffi oor rooms had always been su cient for himself and his daughter. fi ere must have been prodigious reserves of strength in the old man to enable him to accomplish so much hard labour; and though he still babbled dementedly at times, his carpentry seemed to shew the efl ects of sound calculation. It had already begun as soon as Wilbur was born, when one of the many tool-sheds had been put suddenly in order, clapboarded, and ff tted with a stout fresh lock. Now, in restoring the abandoned upper story of the house, he was a no less thorough craffl sman. His mania shewed itself only in his tight boardingup of all the windows in the reclaimed section—though many declared that it was a crazy thing to bother with the reclamation at all. Less inexplicable was his ff tting up of another downstairs room for his new grandson—a room which several callers saw, though no one was ever admitted to the closely boarded upper story. fi is chamber he lined with tall, ff rm shelving; along which he began gradually to arrange, in apparently careful order, all the rotting ancient books and parts of books which during his own day had been heaped promiscuously in odd corners of the various rooms. “I made some use of ’em,” he would say as he tried to mend a torn black-letter page with paste prepared on the rusty kitchen stove, “but the boy’s ff tten to make better use of ’em. He’d orter hev ’em as well sot as he kin, for they’re goin’ to be all of his larnin’.” When Wilbur was a year and seven months old—in September of 1914—his size and accomplishments were almost alarming. He had grown as large as a child of four, and was a ffi uent and incredibly intelligent talker. He ran freely about the ff elds and hills, and accompanied his mother on all her wanderings. At home he would pore diligently over the queer pictures and charts in his grandfather’s books, while Old Whateley would instruct and catechise him through long, hushed affl ernoons. By this time the restoration of the house was ff nished, and those who watched it wondered why one of the upper windows had been made into a solid plank door. It was a window in the rear of the east gable end, close against the hill; and no one could imagine why a cleated wooden runway was built up to it from the ground. About the period of this work’s completion people noticed that the old tool-house, tightly locked and windowlessly clapboarded since Wilbur’s birth, had been abandoned again. fi e door swung listlessly open, and when Earl Sawyer once stepped within affl er a cattle-selling call on Old Whateley he was quite discomposed by the singular odour he encountered—such a stench, he averred, as he had never before smelt in all his life except near the Indian circles on the hills, and which could not come from anything sane or of this earth. But then, the homes and sheds of Dunwich folk have never been remarkable for olfactory immaculateness. fi e following months were void of visible events, save that everyone swore to a slow but steady increase in the mysterious hill noises. On May-Eve of 1915 there were tremors which even the Aylesbury people felt, whilst the following Hallowe’en produced an underground rumbling queerly synchronised with bursts of ffi ame—“them witch Whateleys’ doin’s”—from the summit of Sentinel Hill. Wilbur was growing up uncannily, so that he looked like a boy of ten as he entered his fourth year. He read enable him to accomplish so much immaculateness.

24 investigator handbook avidly by himself now; but talked much less than formerly. A settled taciturnity was absorbing him, and for the ff rst time people began to speak speciff cally of the dawning look of evil in his goatish face. He would sometimes mutter an unfamiliar jargon, and chant in bizarre rhythms which chilled the listener with a sense of unexplainable terror. fi e aversion displayed toward him by dogs had now become a matter of wide remark, and he was obliged to carry a pistol in order to traverse the countryside in safety. His occasional use of the weapon did not enhance his popularity amongst the owners of canine guardians. fi e few callers at the house would offl en ff nd Lavinia alone on the ground ffi oor, while odd cries and footsteps resounded in the boarded-up second story. She would never tell what her father and the boy were doing up there, though once she turned pale and displayed an abnormal degree of fear when a jocose ff sh-peddler tried the locked door leading to the stairway. fi at peddler told the store loungers at Dunwich Village that he thought he heard a horse stamping on that ffi oor above. fi e loungers reffi ected, thinking of the door and runway, and of the cattle that so swiffl ly disappeared. fi en they shuddered as they recalled tales of Old Whateley’s youth, and of the strange things that are called out of the earth when a bullock is sacriff ced at the proper time to certain heathen gods. It had for some time been noticed that dogs had begun to hate and fear the whole Whateley place as violently as they hated and feared young Wilbur personally. In 1917 the war came, and Squire Sawyer Whateley, as chairman of the local draffl board, had hard work ff nding a quota of young Dunwich men ff t even to be sent to a development camp. fi e government, alarmed at such signs of wholesale regional decadence, sent several o cers and medical experts to investigate; conducting a survey which New England newspaper readers may still recall. It was the publicity attending this investigation which set reporters on the track of the Whateleys, and caused the Boston Globe and Arkham Advertiser to print ffi amboyant Sunday stories of young Wilbur’s precociousness, Old Whateley’s black magic, the shelves of strange books, the sealed second story of the ancient farmhouse, and the weirdness of the whole region and its hill noises. Wilbur was four and a half then, and looked like a lad of ff ffl een. His lips and cheeks were fuzzy with a coarse dark down, and his voice had begun to break. Earl Sawyer went out to the Whateley place with both sets of reporters and camera men, and called their attention to the queer stench which now seemed to trickle down from the sealed upper spaces. It was, he said, exactly like a smell he had found in the tool-shed abandoned when the house was ff nally repaired; and like the faint odours which he sometimes thought he caught near the stone circles on the mountains. Dunwich folk read the stories when they appeared, and grinned over the obvious mistakes. fi ey wondered, too, why the writers made so much of the fact that Old Whateley always paid for his cattle in gold pieces of extremely ancient date. fi e Whateleys had received their visitors with ill-concealed distaste, though they did not dare court further publicity by a violent resistance or refusal to talk. IV. For a decade the annals of the Whateleys sink indistinguishably into the general life of a morbid community used to their queer ways and hardened to their May-Eve and All-Hallows orgies. Twice a year they would light ff res on the top of Sentinel Hill, at which times the mountain rumblings would recur with greater and greater violence; while at all seasons there were strange and portentous doings at the lonely farmhouse. In the course of time callers professed to hear sounds in the sealed upper story even when all the family were downstairs, and they wondered how swiffl ly or how lingeringly a cow or bullock was usually sacriff ced. fi ere was talk of a complaint to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals; but nothing ever came of it, since Dunwich folk are never anxious to call the outside world’s attention to themselves. About 1923, when Wilbur was a boy of ten whose mind, voice, stature, and bearded face gave all the impressions of maturity, a second great siege of carpentry went on at the old house. It was all inside the sealed upper part, and from bits of discarded lumber people concluded that the youth and his grandfather had knocked out all the partitions and even removed the attic ffi oor, leaving only one vast open void between the ground story and the peaked roof. fi ey had torn down the great central chimney, too, and ff tted the rusty range with a ffi imsy outside tin stovepipe. In the spring affl er this event Old Whateley noticed the growing number of whippoorwills that would come out of Cold Spring Glen to chirp under his window at night. He seemed to regard the circumstance as one of great signiff cance, and told the loungers at Osborn’s that he thought his time had almost come. “fi ey whistle jest in tune with my breathin’ naow,” he said, “an’ I guess they’re gittin’ ready to ketch my soul. fi ey know it’s a-goin’ aout, an’ dun’t calc’late to miss it. Yew’ll know, boys, arter I’m gone, whether they git me er not. Ef they dew, they’ll keep up a-singin’ an’ la n’ till break o’ day. Ef they dun’t they’ll kinder quiet daown like. I expeck them an’ the souls they hunts fer hev some pretty tough tussles sometimes.” On Lammas Night, 1924, Dr. Houghton of Aylesbury was hastily summoned by Wilbur Whateley, who had lashed his one remaining horse through the darkness and telephoned from Osborn’s in the village. He found Old Whateley in a very grave state, with a cardiac action and stertorous breathing that told of an end not far ofl . fi e shapeless albino daughter and oddly bearded grandson stood by the bedside, whilst from the vacant abyss overhead there came a disquieting suggestion of rhythmical surging or lapping, as of the waves on some level beach. fi e doctor, though, was chieffi y disturbed by the chattering night birds outside; a seemingly limitless legion of whippoorwills that cried their endless

25 chapter 2: the dunwich horror message in repetitions timed diabolically to the wheezing gasps of the dying man. It was uncanny and unnatural—too much, thought Dr. Houghton, like the whole of the region he had entered so reluctantly in response to the urgent call. Toward one o’clock Old Whateley gained consciousness, and interrupted his wheezing to choke out a few words. “More space, Willy, more space soon. Yew grows—an’ that grows faster. It’ll be ready to sarve ye soon, boy. Open up the gates to Yog-Sothoth with the long chant that ye’ll ff nd on page 751 of the complete edition, an’ then put a match to the prison. Fire from airth can’t burn it nohaow.” He was obviously quite mad. Affl er a pause, during which the ffi ock of whippoorwills outside adjusted their cries to the altered tempo while some indications of the strange hill noises came from afar ofl , he added another sentence or two. “Feed it reg’lar, Willy, an’ mind the quantity; but dun’t let it grow too fast fer the place, fer ef it busts quarters or gits aout afore ye opens to Yog-Sothoth, it’s all over an’ no use. Only them from beyont kin make it multiply an’ work. . . . Only them, the old uns as wants to come back. . . .” But speech gave place to gasps again, and Lavinia screamed at the way the whippoorwills followed the change. It was the same for more than an hour, when the ff nal throaty rattle came. Dr. Houghton drew shrunken lids over the glazing grey eyes as the tumult of birds faded imperceptibly to silence. Lavinia sobbed, but Wilbur only chuckled whilst the hill noises rumbled faintly. “fi ey didn’t git him,” he muttered in his heavy bass voice. Wilbur was by this time a scholar of really tremendous erudition in his one-sided way, and was quietly known by correspondence to many librarians in distant places where rare and forbidden books of old days are kept. He was more and more hated and dreaded around Dunwich because of certain youthful disappearances which suspicion laid vaguely at his door; but was always able to silence inquiry through fear or through use of that fund of old-time gold which still, as in his grandfather’s time, went forth regularly and increasingly for cattle-buying. He was now tremendously mature of aspect, and his height, having reached the normal adult limit, seemed inclined to wax beyond that ff gure. In 1925, when a scholarly correspondent from Miskatonic University called upon him one day and departed pale and puzzled, he was fully six and three-quarters feet tall. fi rough all the years Wilbur had treated his halfdeformed albino mother with a growing contempt, ff nally forbidding her to go to the hills with him on May-Eve and Hallowmass; and in 1926 the poor creature complained to Mamie Bishop of being afraid of him. “fi ey’s more abaout him as I knows than I kin tell ye, Mamie,” she said, “an’ naowadays they’s more nor what I know myself. I vaow afur Gawd, I dun’t know what he wants nor what he’s a-tryin’ to dew.” fi at Hallowe’en the hill noises sounded louder than ever, and ff re burned on Sentinel Hill as usual; but people paid more attention to the rhythmical screaming of vast ffi ocks of unnaturally belated whippoorwills which seemed to be assembled near the unlighted Whateley farmhouse. Affl er midnight their shrill notes burst into a kind of pandaemoniac cachinnation which ff lled all the countryside, and not until dawn did they ff nally quiet down. fi en they vanished, hurrying southward where they were fully a month overdue. What this meant, no one could quite be certain till later. None of the country folk seemed to have died—but poor Lavinia Whateley, the twisted albino, was never seen again. In the summer of 1927 Wilbur repaired two sheds in the farmyard and began moving his books and efl ects out to them. Soon affl erward Earl Sawyer told the loungers at Osborn’s that more carpentry was going on in the Whateley farmhouse. Wilbur was closing all the doors and windows on the ground ffi oor, and seemed to be taking out partitions as he and his grandfather had done upstairs four years before. He was living in one of the sheds, and Sawyer thought he seemed unusually worried and tremulous. People generally suspected him of knowing something about his mother’s disappearance, and very few ever approached his neighbourhood now. His height had increased to more than seven feet, and shewed no signs of ceasing its development. V. fi e following winter brought an event no less strange than Wilbur’s ff rst trip outside the Dunwich region. Correspondence with the Widener Library at Harvard, the Bibliothèque nationale in Paris, the British Museum, the University of Buenos Ayres, and the Library of Miskatonic University of Arkham had failed to get him the loan of a book he desperately wanted; so at length he set out in person, shabby, dirty, bearded, and uncouth of dialect, to consult the copy at Miskatonic,

26 investigator handbook which was the nearest to him geographically. Almost eight feet tall, and carrying a cheap new valise from Osborn’s general store, this dark and goatish gargoyle appeared one day in Arkham in quest of the dreaded volume kept under lock and key at the college library—the hideous Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred in Olaus Wormius’ Latin version, as printed in Spain in the seventeenth century. He had never seen a city before, but had no thought save to ff nd his way to the university grounds; where, indeed, he passed heedlessly by the great white-fanged watchdog that barked with unnatural fury and enmity, and tugged frantically at its stout chain. Wilbur had with him the priceless but imperfect copy of Dr. Dee’s English version which his grandfather had bequeathed him, and upon receiving access to the Latin copy he at once began to collate the two texts with the aim of discovering a certain passage which would have come on the 751st page of his own defective volume. fi is much he could not civilly refrain from telling the librarian—the same erudite Henry Armitage (A.M. Miskatonic, Ph. D. Princeton, Litt. D. Johns Hopkins) who had once called at the farm, and who now politely plied him with questions. He was looking, he had to admit, for a kind of formula or incantation containing the frightful name Yog-Sothoth, and it puzzled him to ff nd discrepancies, duplications, and ambiguities which made the matter of determination far from easy. As he copied the formula he ff nally chose, Dr. Armitage looked involuntarily over his shoulder at the open pages; the leffl -hand one of which, in the Latin version, contained such monstrous threats to the peace and sanity of the world. “Nor is it to be thought,” ran the text as Armitage mentally translated it, “that man is either the oldest or the last of earth’s masters, or that the common bulk of life and substance walks alone. fi e Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but between them, fi ey walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen. YogSothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where fi ey shall break through again. He knows where fi ey have trod earth’s ff elds, and where fi ey still tread them, and why no one can behold fi em as fi ey tread. By fi eir smell can men sometimes know fi em near, but of fi eir semblance can no man know, saving only in the features of those ff ey have begotten on mankind; and of those are there many sorts, difl ering in likeness from man’s truest eidolon to that shape without sight or substance which is ff em. fi ey walk unseen and foul in lonely places where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. fi e wind gibbers with fi eir voices, and the earth mutters with fi eir consciousness. fi ey bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not forest or city behold the hand that smites. Kadath in the cold waste hath known fi em, and what man knows Kadath? fi e ice desert of the South and the sunken isles of Ocean hold stones whereon fi eir seal is engraven, but who hath seen the deep frozen city or the sealed tower long garlanded with seaweed and barnacles? Great Cthulhu is fi eir cousin, yet can he spy fi em only dimly. Iä! ShubNiggurath! As a foulness shall ye know fi em. fi eir hand is at your throats, yet ye see fi em not; and fi eir habitation is even one with your guarded threshold. Yog-Sothoth is the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet. Man rules now where fi ey ruled once; fi ey shall soon rule where man rules now. Affl er summer is winter, and affl er winter summer. fi ey wait patient and potent, for here shall fi ey reign again.” Dr. Armitage, associating what he was reading with what he had heard of Dunwich and its brooding presences, and of Wilbur Whateley and his dim, hideous aura that stretched from a dubious birth to a cloud of probable matricide, felt investigator handbook

27 chapter 2: the dunwich horror a wave of fright as tangible as a draught of the tomb’s cold clamminess. fi e bent, goatish giant before him seemed like the spawn of another planet or dimension; like something only partly of mankind, and linked to black gulfs of essence and entity that stretch like titan phantasms beyond all spheres of force and matter, space and time. Presently Wilbur raised his head and began speaking in that strange, resonant fashion which hinted at sound-producing organs unlike the run of mankind’s. “Mr. Armitage,” he said, “I calc’late I’ve got to take that book home. fi ey’s things in it I’ve got to try under sarten conditions that I can’t git here, an’ it ’ud be a mortal sin to let a red-tape rule hold me up. Let me take it along, Sir, an’ I’ll swar they wun’t nobody know the difl erence. I dun’t need to tell ye I’ll take good keer of it. It wa’n’t me that put this Dee copy in the shape it is. . . .” He stopped as he saw ff rm denial on the librarian’s face, and his own goatish features grew craffl y. Armitage, halfready to tell him he might make a copy of what parts he needed, thought suddenly of the possible consequences and checked himself. fi ere was too much responsiblity in giving such a being the key to such blasphemous outer spheres. Whateley saw how things stood, and tried to answer lightly. “Wal, all right, ef ye feel that way abaout it. Maybe Harvard wun’t be so fussy as yew be.” And without saying more he rose and strode out of the building, stooping at each doorway. Armitage heard the savage yelping of the great watchdog, and studied Whateley’s gorilla-like lope as he crossed the bit of campus visible from the window. He thought of the wild tales he had heard, and recalled the old Sunday stories in the Advertiser; these things, and the lore he had picked up from Dunwich rustics and villagers during his one visit there. Unseen things not of earth—or at least not of tri-dimensional earth—rushed foetid and horrible through New England’s glens, and brooded obscenely on the mountain-tops. Of this he had long felt certain. Now he seemed to sense the close presence of some terrible part of the intruding horror, and to glimpse a hellish advance in the black dominion of the ancient and once passive nightmare. He locked away the Necronomicon with a shudder of disgust, but the room still reeked with an unholy and unidentiff able stench. “As a foulness shall ye know them,” he quoted. Yes—the odour was the same as that which had sickened him at the Whateley farmhouse less than three years before. He thought of Wilbur, goatish and ominous, once again, and laughed mockingly at the village rumours of his parentage. “Inbreeding?” Armitage muttered half-aloud to himself. “Great God, what simpletons! Shew them Arthur Machen’s Great God Pan and they’ll think it a common Dunwich scandal! But what thing—what cursed shapeless inffi uence on or ofl this three-dimensioned earth—was Wilbur Whateley’s father? Born on Candlemas—nine months affl er May-Eve of 1912, when the talk about the queer earth noises reached clear to Arkham— What walked on the mountains that MayNight? What Roodmas horror fastened itself on the world in half-human ffi esh and blood?” During the ensuing weeks Dr. Armitage set about to collect all possible data on Wilbur Whateley and the formless presences around Dunwich. He got in communication with Dr. Houghton of Aylesbury, who had attended Old Whateley in his last illness, and found much to ponder over in the grandfather’s last words as quoted by the physician. A visit to Dunwich Village failed to bring out much that was new; but a close survey of the Necronomicon, in those parts which Wilbur had sought so avidly, seemed to supply new and terrible clues to the nature, methods, and desires of the strange evil so vaguely threatening this planet. Talks with several students of archaic lore in Boston, and letters to many others elsewhere, gave him a growing amazement which passed slowly through varied degrees of alarm to a state of really acute spiritual fear. As the summer drew on he felt dimly that something ought to be done about the lurking terrors of the upper Miskatonic valley, and about the monstrous being known to the human world as Wilbur Whateley. VI. fi e Dunwich horror itself came between Lammas and the equinox in 1928, and Dr. Armitage was among those who witnessed its monstrous prologue. He had heard, meanwhile, Henry Armitage

28 investigator handbook of Whateley’s grotesque trip to Cambridge, and of his frantic efl orts to borrow or copy from the Necronomicon at the Widener Library. fi ose efl orts had been in vain, since Armitage had issued warnings of the keenest intensity to all librarians having charge of the dreaded volume. Wilbur had been shockingly nervous at Cambridge; anxious for the book, yet almost equally anxious to get home again, as if he feared the results of being away long. Early in August the half-expected outcome developed, and in the small hours of the 3d Dr. Armitage was awakened suddenly by the wild, ff erce cries of the savage watchdog on the college campus. Deep and terrible, the snarling, half-mad growls and barks continued; always in mounting volume, but with hideously signiff cant pauses. fi en there rang out a scream from a wholly difl erent throat—such a scream as roused half the sleepers of Arkham and haunted their dreams ever affl erward—such a scream as could come from no being born of earth, or wholly of earth. Armitage, hastening into some clothing and rushing across the street and lawn to the college buildings, saw that others were ahead of him; and heard the echoes of a burglaralarm still shrilling from the library. An open window shewed black and gaping in the moonlight. What had come had indeed completed its entrance; for the barking and the screaming, now fast fading into a mixed low growling and moaning, proceeded unmistakably from within. Some instinct warned Armitage that what was taking place was not a thing for unfortiff ed eyes to see, so he brushed back the crowd with authority as he unlocked the vestibule door. Among the others he saw Professor Warren Rice and Dr. Francis Morgan, men to whom he had told some of his conjectures and misgivings; and these two he motioned to accompany him inside. fi e inward sounds, except for a watchful, droning whine from the dog, had by this time quite subsided; but Armitage now perceived with a sudden start that a loud chorus of whippoorwills among the shrubbery had commenced a damnably rhythmical piping, as if in unison with the last breaths of a dying man. fi e building was full of a frightful stench which Dr. Armitage knew too well, and the three men rushed across the hall to the small genealogical reading-room whence the low whining came. For a second nobody dared to turn on the light, then Armitage summoned up his courage and snapped the switch. One of the three—it is not certain which—shrieked aloud at what sprawled before them among disordered tables and overturned chairs. Professor Rice declares that he wholly lost consciousness for an instant, though he did not stumble or fall. fi e thing that lay half-bent on its side in a foetid pool of greenish-yellow ichor and tarry stickiness was almost nine feet tall, and the dog had torn ofl all the clothing and some of the skin. It was not quite dead, but twitched silently and spasmodically while its chest heaved in monstrous unison with the mad piping of the expectant whippoorwills outside. Bits of shoe-leather and fragments of apparel were scattered about the room, and just inside the window an empty canvas sack lay where it had evidently been thrown. Near the central desk a revolver had fallen, a dented but undischarged cartridge later explaining why it had not been ff red. fi e thing itself, however, crowded out all other images at the time. It would be trite and not wholly accurate to say that no human pen could describe it, but one may properly say that it could not be vividly visualised by anyone whose ideas of aspect and contour are too closely bound up with the common life-forms of this planet and of the three known dimensions. It was partly human, beyond a doubt, with very man-like hands and head, and the goatish, chinless face had the stamp of the Whateleys upon it. But the torso and lower parts of the body were teratologically fabulous, so that only generous clothing could ever have enabled it to walk on earth unchallenged or uneradicated. Above the waist it was semi-anthropomorphic; though its chest, where the dog’s rending paws still rested watchfully, had the leathery, reticulated hide of a crocodile or alligator. fi e back was piebald with yellow and black, and dimly suggested the squamous covering of certain snakes. Below the waist, though, it was the worst; for here all human resemblance leffl ofl and sheer phantasy began. fi e skin was thickly covered with coarse black fur, and from the abdomen a score of long greenish-grey tentacles with red sucking mouths protruded limply. fi eir arrangement was odd, and seemed to follow the symmetries of some cosmic geometry unknown to earth or the solar system. On each of the hips, deep set in a kind of pinkish, ciliated orbit, was what seemed to be a rudimentary eye; whilst in lieu of a tail there depended a kind of trunk or feeler with purple annular markings, and with many evidences of being an undeveloped mouth or throat. fi e limbs, save for their black fur, roughly resembled the hind legs of prehistoric earth’s giant saurians; and terminated in ridgy-veined pads that were neither hooves nor claws. When the thing breathed, its tail and tentacles rhythmically changed colour, as if from some circulatory cause normal to the non-human side of its ancestry. In the tentacles this was observable as a deepening of the greenish tinge, whilst in the tail it was manifest as a yellowish appearance which alternated with a sickly greyish-white in the spaces between the purple rings. Of genuine blood there was none; only the foetid greenish-yellow ichor which trickled along the painted ffi oor beyond the radius of the stickiness, and leffl a curious discolouration behind it. As the presence of the three men seemed to rouse the dying thing, it began to mumble without turning or raising its head. Dr. Armitage made no written record of its mouthings, but asserts conff dently that nothing in English was uttered. At ff rst the syllables deff ed all correlation with any speech of earth, but toward the last there came some disjointed fragments evidently taken from the Necronomicon, that monstrous blasphemy in quest of which the thing had perished. fi ese fragments, as Armitage recalls them, ran something like “N’gai, n’gha’ghaa, bugg-shoggog, y’hah; YogSothoth, Yog-Sothoth. . . .” fi ey trailed ofl into nothingness as the whippoorwills shrieked in rhythmical crescendoes of unholy anticipation.

29 chapter 2: the dunwich horror fi en came a halt in the gasping, and the dog raised its head in a long, lugubrious howl. A change came over the yellow, goatish face of the prostrate thing, and the great black eyes fell in appallingly. Outside the window the shrilling of the whippoorwills had suddenly ceased, and above the murmurs of the gathering crowd there came the sound of a panic-struck whirring and ffi uttering. Against the moon vast clouds of feathery watchers rose and raced from sight, frantic at that which they had sought for prey. All at once the dog started up abruptly, gave a frightened bark, and leaped nervously out of the window by which it had entered. A cry rose from the crowd, and Dr. Armitage shouted to the men outside that no one must be admitted till the police or medical examiner came. He was thankful that the windows were just too high to permit of peering in, and drew the dark curtains carefully down over each one. By this time two policemen had arrived; and Dr. Morgan, meeting them in the vestibule, was urging them for their own sakes to postpone entrance to the stench-ff lled reading-room till the examiner came and the prostrate thing could be covered up. Meanwhile frightful changes were taking place on the ffi oor. One need not describe the kind and rate of shrinkage and disintegration that occurred before the eyes of Dr. Armitage and Professor Rice; but it is permissible to say that, aside from the external appearance of face and hands, the really human element in Wilbur Whateley must have been very small. When the medical examiner came, there was only a sticky whitish mass on the painted boards, and the monstrous odour had nearly disappeared. Apparently Whateley had had no skull or bony skeleton; at least, in any true or stable sense. He had taken somewhat affl er his unknown father. VII. Yet all this was only the prologue of the actual Dunwich horror. Formalities were gone through by bewildered o cials, abnormal details were duly kept from press and public, and men were sent to Dunwich and Aylesbury to look up property and notify any who might be heirs of the late Wilbur Whateley. fi ey found the countryside in great agitation, both because of the growing rumblings beneath the domed hills, and because of the unwonted stench and the surging, lapping sounds which came increasingly from the great empty shell formed by Whateley’s boarded-up farmhouse. Earl Sawyer, who tended the horse and cattle during Wilbur’s absence, had developed a woefully acute case of nerves. fi e o cials devised excuses not to enter the noisome boarded place; and were glad to conff ne their survey of the deceased’s living quarters, the newly mended sheds, to a single visit. fi ey ff led a ponderous report at the court-house in Aylesbury, and litigations concerning heirship are said to be still in progress amongst the innumerable Whateleys, decayed and undecayed, of the upper Miskatonic valley. An almost interminable manuscript in strange characters, written in a huge ledger and adjudged a sort of diary because of the spacing and the variations in ink and penmanship, 29

30 investigator handbook presented a ba ing puzzle to those who found it on the old bureau which served as its owner’s desk. Affl er a week of debate it was sent to Miskatonic University, together with the deceased’s collection of strange books, for study and possible translation; but even the best linguists soon saw that it was not likely to be unriddled with ease. No trace of the ancient gold with which Wilbur and Old Whateley always paid their debts has yet been discovered. It was in the dark of September 9th that the horror broke loose. fi e hill noises had been very pronounced during the evening, and dogs barked frantically all night. Early risers on the 10th noticed a peculiar stench in the air. About seven o’clock Luther Brown, the hired boy at George Corey’s, between Cold Spring Glen and the village, rushed frenziedly back from his morning trip to Ten-Acre Meadow with the cows. He was almost convulsed with fright as he stumbled into the kitchen; and in the yard outside the no less frightened herd were pawing and lowing pitifully, having followed the boy back in the panic they shared with him. Between gasps Luther tried to stammer out his tale to Mrs. Corey. “Up thar in the rud beyont the glen, Mis’ Corey—they’s suthin’ ben thar! It smells like thunder, an’ all the bushes an’ little trees is pushed back from the rud like they’d a haouse ben moved along of it. An’ that ain’t the wust, nuther. fi ey’s prints in the rud, Mis’ Corey—great raound prints as big as barrel-heads, all sunk daown deep like a elephant had ben along, only they’s a sight more nor four feet could make! I looked at one or two afore I run, an’ I see every one was covered with lines spreadin’ aout from one place, like as if big palm-leaf fans—twict or three times as big as any they is—hed of ben paounded daown into the rud. An’ the smell was awful, like what it is araound Wizard Whateley’s ol’ haouse. . . .” Here he faltered, and seemed to shiver afresh with the fright that had sent him ffi ying home. Mrs. Corey, unable to extract more information, began telephoning the neighbours; thus starting on its rounds the overture of panic that heralded the major terrors. When she got Sally Sawyer, housekeeper at Seth Bishop’s, the nearest place to Whateley’s, it became her turn to listen instead of transmit; for Sally’s boy Chauncey, who slept poorly, had been up on the hill toward Whateley’s, and had dashed back in terror affl er one look at the place, and at the pasturage where Mr. Bishop’s cows had been leffl out all night. “Yes, Mis’ Corey,” came Sally’s tremulous voice over the party wire, “Cha’ncey he just come back a-postin’, and couldn’t hafl talk fer bein’ scairt! He says Ol’ Whateley’s haouse is all blowed up, with the timbers scattered raound like they’d ben dynamite inside; only the bottom ffi oor ain’t through, but is all covered with a kind o’ tar-like stufl that smells awful an’ drips daown ofl en the aidges onto the graoun’ whar the side timbers is blown away. An’ they’s awful kinder marks in the yard, tew—great raound marks bigger raound than a hogshead, an’ all sticky with stufl like is on the blowed-up haouse. Cha’ncey he says they leads ofl into the medders, whar a great swath wider’n a barn is matted daown, an’ all the stun walls tumbled every whichway wherever it goes. “An’ he says, says he, Mis’ Corey, as haow he sot to look fer Seth’s caows, frighted ez he was; an’ faound ’em in the upper pasture nigh the Devil’s Hop Yard in an awful shape. Hafl on ’em’s clean gone, an’ nigh hafl o’ them that’s leffl is sucked most dry o’ blood, with sores on ’em like they’s ben on Whateley’s cattle ever senct Lavinny’s black brat was born. Seth he’s gone aout naow to look at ’em, though I’ll vaow he wun’t keer ter git very nigh Wizard Whateley’s! Cha’ncey didn’t look keerful ter see whar the big matted-daown swath led arter it lefl the pasturage, but he says he thinks it p’inted towards the glen rud to the village. “I tell ye, Mis’ Corey, they’s suthin’ abroad as hadn’t orter be abroad, an’ I for one think that black Wilbur Whateley, as come to the bad eend he desarved, is at the bottom of the breedin’ of it. He wa’n’t all human hisself, I allus says to everybody; an’ I think he an’ Ol’ Whateley must a raised suthin’ in that there nailed-up haouse as ain’t even so human as he was. fi ey’s allus ben unseen things araound Dunwich— livin’ things—as ain’t human an’ ain’t good fer human folks. “fi e graoun’ was a-talkin’ lass night, an’ towards mornin’ Cha’ncey he heerd the whippoorwills so laoud in Col’ Spring Glen he couldn’t sleep nun. fi en he thought he heerd another faint-like saound over towards Wizard Whateley’s—a kinder rippin’ or tearin’ o’ wood, like some big box er crate was bein’ opened fur ofl . What with this an’ that, he didn’t git to sleep at all till sunup, an’ no sooner was he up this mornin’, but he’s got to go over to Whateley’s an’ see what’s the matter. He see enough, I tell ye, Mis’ Corey! fi is dun’t mean no good, an’ I think as all the men-folks ought to git up a party an’ do suthin’. I know suthin’ awful’s abaout, an’ feel my time is nigh, though only Gawd knows jest what it is. “Did your Luther take accaount o’ whar them big tracks led tew? No? Wal, Mis’ Corey, ef they was on the glen rud this side o’ the glen, an’ ain’t got to your haouse yet, I calc’late they must go into the glen itself. fi ey would do that. I allus says Col’ Spring Glen ain’t no healthy nor decent place. fi e whippoorwills an’ ff reffi ies there never did act like they was creaters o’ Gawd, an’ they’s them as says ye kin hear strange things a-rushin’ an’ a-talkin’ in the air daown thar ef ye stand in the right place, atween the rock falls an’ Bear’s Den.” By that noon fully three-quarters of the men and boys of Dunwich were trooping over the roads and meadows between the new-made Whateley ruins and Cold Spring Glen, examining in horror the vast, monstrous prints, the maimed Bishop cattle, the strange, noisome wreck of the farmhouse, and the bruised, matted vegetation of the ff elds and roadsides. Whatever had burst loose upon the world had assuredly gone down into the great sinister ravine; for all the trees on the banks were bent and broken, and a great avenue had been gouged in the precipice-hanging underbrush. It was as though a house, launched by an avalanche, had slid down through the tangled growths of the almost vertical slope. From below no sound came, but only a distant, undeff nable foetor; and it is not to be wondered at that the men preferred to stay on the edge and argue, rather than descend and beard the unknown Cyclopean horror in its lair. fi ree dogs that were with the party had barked furiously at

31 chapter 2: the dunwich horror ff rst, but seemed cowed and reluctant when near the glen. Someone telephoned the news to the Aylesbury Transcript; but the editor, accustomed to wild tales from Dunwich, did no more than concoct a humorous paragraph about it; an item soon affl erward reproduced by the Associated Press. fi at night everyone went home, and every house and barn was barricaded as stoutly as possible. Needless to say, no cattle were allowed to remain in open pasturage. About two in the morning a frightful stench and the savage barking of the dogs awakened the household at Elmer Frye’s, on the eastern edge of Cold Spring Glen, and all agreed that they could hear a sort of mu ed swishing or lapping sound from somewhere outside. Mrs. Frye proposed telephoning the neighbours, and Elmer was about to agree when the noise of splintering wood burst in upon their deliberations. It came, apparently, from the barn; and was quickly followed by a hideous screaming and stamping amongst the cattle. fi e dogs slavered and crouched close to the feet of the fear-numbed family. Frye lit a lantern through force of habit, but knew it would be death to go out into that black farmyard. fi e children and the womenfolk whimpered, kept from screaming by some obscure, vestigial instinct of defence which told them their lives depended on silence. At last the noise of the cattle subsided to a pitiful moaning, and a great snapping, crashing, and crackling ensued. fi e Fryes, huddled together in the sitting-room, did not dare to move until the last echoes died away far down in Cold Spring Glen. fi en, amidst the dismal moans from the stable and the daemoniac piping of late whippoorwills in the glen, Selina Frye tottered to the telephone and spread what news she could of the second phase of the horror. fi e next day all the countryside was in a panic; and cowed, uncommunicative groups came and went where the ff endish thing had occurred. Two titan swaths of destruction stretched from the glen to the Frye farmyard, monstrous prints covered the bare patches of ground, and one side of the old red barn had completely caved in. Of the cattle, only a quarter could be found and identiff ed. Some of these were in curious fragments, and all that survived had to be shot. Earl Sawyer suggested that help be asked from Aylesbury or Arkham, but others maintained it would be of no use. Old Zebulon Whateley, of a branch that hovered about half way between soundness and decadence, made darkly wild suggestions about rites that ought to be practiced on the hill-tops. He came of a line where tradition ran strong, and his memories of chantings in the great stone circles were not altogether connected with Wilbur and his grandfather. Darkness fell upon a stricken countryside too passive to organise for real defence. In a few cases closely related families would band together and watch in the gloom under one roof; but in general there was only a repetition of the barricading of the night before, and a futile, inefl ective gesture of loading muskets and setting pitchforks handily about. Nothing, however, occurred except some hill noises; and when the day came there were many who hoped that the new horror had gone as swiffl ly as it had come. fi ere were even bold souls who proposed an ofl ensive expedition down in the glen, though they did not venture to set an actual example to the still reluctant majority. When night came again the barricading was repeated, though there was less huddling together of families. In the morning both the Frye and the Seth Bishop households reported excitement among the dogs and vague sounds and stenches from afar, while early explorers noted with horror a fresh set of the monstrous tracks in the road skirting Sentinel Hill. As before, the sides of the road shewed a bruising indicative of the blasphemously stupendous bulk of the horror; whilst the conformation of the tracks seemed to argue a passage in two directions, as if the moving mountain had come from Cold Spring Glen and returned to it along the same path. At the base of the hill a thirty-foot swath of crushed shrubbery saplings led steeply upward, and the seekers gasped when they saw that even the most perpendicular places did not deffi ect the inexorable trail. Whatever the horror was, it could scale a sheer stony clifl of almost complete verticality; and as the investigators climbed around to the hill’s summit by safer routes they saw that the trail ended—or rather, reversed—there. It was here that the Whateleys used to build their hellish ff res and chant their hellish rituals by the table-like stone on May-Eve and Hallowmass. Now that very stone formed the centre of a vast space thrashed around by the mountainous horror, whilst upon its slightly concave surface was a thick and foetid deposit of the same tarry stickiness observed on the ffi oor of the ruined Whateley farmhouse when the horror escaped. Men looked at one another and muttered. fi en they looked down the hill. Apparently the horror had descended by a route much the same as that of its ascent. To speculate was futile. Reason, logic, and normal ideas of motivation stood confounded. Only old Zebulon, who was not with the group, could have done justice to the situation or suggested a plausible explanation. fi ursday night began much like the others, but it ended less happily. fi e whippoorwills in the glen had screamed with such unusual persistence that many could not sleep, and about 3 a.m. all the party telephones rang tremulously. fi ose who took down their receivers heard a fright-mad voice shriek out, “Help, oh, my Gawd! . . .” and some thought a crashing sound followed the breaking ofl of the exclamation. fi ere was nothing more. No one dared do anything, and no one knew till morning whence the call came. fi en those who had heard and crouched close to the feet of the fear-numbed family. Frye lit a lantern through force of habit, but knew it would be death to go out into that black farmyard. fi e children and the womenfolk whimpered, kept from screaming by some obscure, vestigial instinct of defence which told them their lives depended on silence. At last the noise of the cattle subsided to a pitiful moaning, and a great snapping, crashing, and crackling ensued. fi e Fryes, huddled together in the sitting-room, did not dare to move until the last echoes died away far down in Cold Spring Glen. fi en, amidst the dismal moans from the stable and the daemoniac piping of late whippoorwills in the glen, Selina Frye tottered to the the horror; whilst the conformation of the tracks seemed to argue a passage in two directions, as if the moving mountain had come from Cold Spring Glen and returned to it along the same path. At the base of the hill a thirty-foot swath of crushed shrubbery saplings led steeply upward, and the investigators climbed around to the hill’s summit by safer routes they saw that the trail ended—or rather, reversed—there. It was here that the Whateleys used to build their hellish ff res and chant their

32 investigator handbook it called everyone on the line, and found that only the Fryes did not reply. fi e truth appeared an hour later, when a hastily assembled group of armed men trudged out to the Frye place at the head of the glen. It was horrible, yet hardly a surprise. fi ere were more swaths and monstrous prints, but there was no longer any house. It had caved in like an egg-shell, and amongst the ruins nothing living or dead could be discovered. Only a stench and a tarry stickiness. fi e Elmer Fryes had been erased from Dunwich. VIII. In the meantime a quieter yet even more spiritually poignant phase of the horror had been blackly unwinding itself behind the closed door of a shelf-lined room in Arkham. fi e curious manuscript record or diary of Wilbur Whateley, delivered to Miskatonic University for translation, had caused much worry and ba ement among the experts in languages both ancient and modern; its very alphabet, notwithstanding a general resemblance to the heavily shaded Arabic used in Mesopotamia, being absolutely unknown to any available authority. fi e ff nal conclusion of the linguists was that the text represented an artiff cial alphabet, giving the efl ect of a cipher; though none of the usual methods of cryptographic solution seemed to furnish any clue, even when applied on the basis of every tongue the writer might conceivably have used. fi e ancient books taken from Whateley’s quarters, while absorbingly interesting and in several cases promising to open up new and terrible lines of research among philosophers and men of science, were of no assistance whatever in this matter. One of them, a heavy tome with an iron clasp, was in another unknown alphabet—this one of a very difl erent cast, and resembling Sanscrit more than anything else. fi e old ledger was at length given wholly into the charge of Dr. Armitage, both because of his peculiar interest in the Whateley matter, and because of his wide linguistic learning and skill in the mystical formulae of antiquity and the Middle Ages. Armitage had an idea that the alphabet might be something esoterically used by certain forbidden cults which have come down from old times, and which have inherited many forms and traditions from the wizards of the Saracenic world. fi at question, however, he did not deem vital; since it would be unnecessary to know the origin of the symbols if, as he suspected, they were used as a cipher in a modern language. It was his belief that, considering the great amount of text involved, the writer would scarcely have wished the trouble of using another speech than his own, save perhaps in certain special formulae and incantations. Accordingly he attacked the manuscript with the preliminary assumption that the bulk of it was in English. Dr. Armitage knew, from the repeated failures of his colleagues, that the riddle was a deep and complex one; and that no simple mode of solution could merit even a trial. All through late August he fortiff ed himself with the massed lore of cryptography; drawing upon the fullest resources of his own library, and wading night affl er night amidst the arcana of Trithemius’ Poligraphia, Giambattista Porta’s De Furtivis Literarum Notis, De Vigenère’s Traité des Chiffl res, Falconer’s Cryptomenysis Patefacta, Davys’ and fi icknesse’s eighteenthcentury treatises, and such fairly modern authorities as Blair, von Marten, and Klüber’s Kryptographik. He interspersed his study of the books with attacks on the manuscript itself, and in time became convinced that he had to deal with one of those subtlest and most ingenious of cryptograms, in which many separate lists of corresponding letters are arranged like the multiplication table, and the message built up with arbitrary key-words known only to the initiated. fi e older authorities seemed rather more helpful than the newer ones, and Armitage concluded that the code of the manuscript was one of great antiquity, no doubt handed down through a long line of mystical experimenters. Several times he seemed near daylight, only to be set back by some unforeseen obstacle. fi en, as September approached, the clouds began to clear. Certain letters, as used in certain parts of the manuscript, emerged deff nitely and unmistakably; and it became obvious that the text was indeed in English. On the evening of September 2nd the last major barrier gave way, and Dr. Armitage read for the ff rst time a continuous passage of Wilbur Whateley’s annals. It was in truth a diary, as all had thought; and it was couched in a style clearly shewing the mixed occult erudition and general illiteracy of the strange being who wrote it. Almost the ff rst long passage that Armitage deciphered, an entry dated November 26, 1916, proved highly startling and disquieting. It was written, he remembered, by a child of three and a half who looked like a lad of twelve or thirteen. “Today learned the Aklo for the Sabaoth,” it ran, “which did not like, it being answerable from the hill and not from the air. fi at upstairs more ahead of me than I had thought it would be, and is not like to have much earth brain. Shot Elam Hutchins’ collie Jack when he went to bite me, and Elam says he would kill me if he dast. I guess he won’t. Grandfather kept me saying the Dho formula last night, and I think I

33 chapter 2: the dunwich horror saw the inner city at the 2 magnetic poles. I shall go to those poles when the earth is cleared ofl , if I can’t break through with the Dho-Hna formula when I commit it. fi ey from the air told me at Sabbat that it will be years before I can clear ofl the earth, and I guess grandfather will be dead then, so I shall have to learn all the angles of the planes and all the formulas between the Yr and the Nhhngr. fi ey from outside will help, but they cannot take body without human blood. fi at upstairs looks it will have the right cast. I can see it a little when I make the Voorish sign or blow the powder of Ibn Ghazi at it, and it is near like them at May-Eve on the Hill. fi e other face may wear ofl some. I wonder how I shall look when the earth is cleared and there are no earth beings on it. He that came with the Aklo Sabaoth said I may be transff gured, there being much of outside to work on.” Morning found Dr. Armitage in a cold sweat of terror and a frenzy of wakeful concentration. He had not leffl the manuscript all night, but sat at his table under the electric light turning page affl er page with shaking hands as fast as he could decipher the cryptic text. He had nervously telephoned his wife he would not be home, and when she brought him a breakfast from the house he could scarcely dispose of a mouthful. All that day he read on, now and then halted maddeningly as a reapplication of the complex key became necessary. Lunch and dinner were brought him, but he ate only the smallest fraction of either. Toward the middle of the next night he drowsed ofl in his chair, but soon woke out of a tangle of nightmares almost as hideous as the truths and menaces to man’s existence that he had uncovered. On the morning of September 4th Professor Rice and Dr. Morgan insisted on seeing him for a while, and departed trembling and ashen-grey. fi at evening he went to bed, but slept only ff tfully. Wednesday—the next day—he was back at the manuscript, and began to take copious notes both from the current sections and from those he had already deciphered. In the small hours of that night he slept a little in an easy-chair in his o ce, but was at the manuscript again before dawn. Some time before noon his physician, Dr. Hartwell, called to see him and insisted that he cease work. He refused; intimating that it was of the most vital importance for him to complete the reading of the diary, and promising an explanation in due course of time. fi at evening, just as twilight fell, he ff nished his terrible perusal and sank back exhausted. His wife, bringing his dinner, found him in a half-comatose state; but he was conscious enough to warn her ofl with a sharp cry when he saw her eyes wander toward the notes he had taken. Weakly rising, he gathered up the scribbled papers and sealed them all in a great envelope, which he immediately placed in his inside coat pocket. He had su cient strength to get home, but was so clearly in need of medical aid that Dr. Hartwell was summoned at once. As the doctor put him to bed he could only mutter over and over again, “But what, in God’s name, can we do?” Dr. Armitage slept, but was partly delirious the next day. He made no explanations to Hartwell, but in his calmer moments spoke of the imperative need of a long conference with Rice and Morgan. His wilder wanderings were very startling indeed, including frantic appeals that something in a boarded-up farmhouse be destroyed, and fantastic references to some plan for the extirpation of the entire human race and all animal and vegetable life from the earth by some terrible elder race of beings from another dimension. He would shout that the world was in danger, since the Elder fi ings wished to strip it and drag it away from the solar system and cosmos of matter into some other plane or phase of entity from which it had once fallen, vigintillions of aeons ago. At other times he would call for the dreaded Necronomicon and the Daemonolatreia of Remigius, in which he seemed hopeful of ff nding some formula to check the peril he conjured up. “Stop them, stop them!” he would shout. “fi ose Whateleys meant to let them in, and the worst of all is leffl ! Tell Rice and Morgan we must do something—it’s a blind business, but I know how to make the powder. . . . It hasn’t been fed since the second of August, when Wilbur came here to his death, and at that rate. . . .” But Armitage had a sound physique despite his seventythree years, and slept ofl his disorder that night without developing any real fever. He woke late Friday, clear of head, though sober with a gnawing fear and tremendous sense of responsibility. Saturday affl ernoon he felt able to go over to the library and summon Rice and Morgan for a conference, and the rest of that day and evening the three men tortured their brains in the wildest speculation and the most desperate debate. Strange and terrible books were drawn voluminously from the stack shelves and from secure places of storage; and diagrams and formulae were copied with feverish haste and in bewildering abundance. Of scepticism there was none. All three had seen the body of Wilbur Whateley as it lay on the ffi oor in a room of that very building, and affl er that not one of them could feel even slightly inclined to treat the diary as a madman’s raving. Opinions were divided as to notifying the Massachusetts State Police, and the negative ff nally won. fi ere were things involved which simply could not be believed by those who had not seen a sample, as indeed was made clear during certain subsequent investigations. Late at night the conference disbanded without having developed a deff nite plan, but all day Sunday Armitage was busy comparing formulae and mixing chemicals obtained from the college laboratory. fi e more he reffi ected on the hellish diary, the more he was inclined to doubt the e cacy of any material agent in stamping out the entity which Wilbur Whateley had leffl behind him—the earth-threatening entity which, unknown to him, was to burst forth in a few hours and become the memorable Dunwich horror. Monday was a repetition of Sunday with Dr. Armitage, for the task in hand required an inff nity of research and experiment. Further consultations of the monstrous diary brought about various changes of plan, and he knew that even in the end a large amount of uncertainty must remain.

34 investigator handbook By Tuesday he had a deff nite line of action mapped out, and believed he would try a trip to Dunwich within a week. fi en, on Wednesday, the great shock came. Tucked obscurely away in a corner of the Arkham Advertiser was a facetious little item from the Associated Press, telling what a record-breaking monster the bootleg whiskey of Dunwich had raised up. Armitage, half stunned, could only telephone for Rice and Morgan. Far into the night they discussed, and the next day was a whirlwind of preparation on the part of them all. Armitage knew he would be meddling with terrible powers, yet saw that there was no other way to annul the deeper and more malign meddling which others had done before him. IX. Friday morning Armitage, Rice, and Morgan set out by motor for Dunwich, arriving at the village about one in the affl ernoon. fi e day was pleasant, but even in the brightest sunlight a kind of quiet dread and portent seemed to hover about the strangely domed hills and the deep, shadowy ravines of the stricken region. Now and then on some mountain-top a gaunt circle of stones could be glimpsed against the sky. From the air of hushed fright at Osborn’s store they knew something hideous had happened, and soon learned of the annihilation of the Elmer Frye house and family. fi roughout that affl ernoon they rode around Dunwich; questioning the natives concerning all that had occurred, and seeing for themselves with rising pangs of horror the drear Frye ruins with their lingering traces of the tarry stickiness, the blasphemous tracks in the Frye yard, the wounded Seth Bishop cattle, and the enormous swaths of disturbed vegetation in various places. fi e trail up and down Sentinel Hill seemed to Armitage of almost cataclysmic signiff cance, and he looked long at the sinister altar-like stone on the summit. At length the visitors, apprised of a party of State Police which had come from Aylesbury that morning in response to the ff rst telephone reports of the Frye tragedy, decided to seek out the o cers and compare notes as far as practicable. fi is, however, they found more easily planned than performed; since no sign of the party could be found in any direction. fi ere had been ff ve of them in a car, but now the car stood empty near the ruins in the Frye yard. fi e natives, all of whom had talked with the policemen, seemed at ff rst as perplexed as Armitage and his companions. fi en old Sam Hutchins thought of something and turned pale, nudging Fred Farr and pointing to the dank, deep hollow that yawned close by. “Gawd,” he gasped, “I telled ’em not ter go daown into the glen, an’ I never thought nobody’d dew it with them tracks an’ that smell an’ the whippoorwills a-screechin’ daown thar in the dark o’ noonday. . . .” A cold shudder ran through natives and visitors alike, and every ear seemed strained in a kind of instinctive, unconscious listening. Armitage, now that he had actually come upon the horror and its monstrous work, trembled with the responsibility he felt to be his. Night would soon fall, and it was then that the mountainous blasphemy lumbered upon its eldritch course. Negotium perambulans in tenebris. . . . fi e old librarian rehearsed the formulae he had memorised, and clutched the paper containing the alternative one he had not memorised. He saw that his electric ffi ashlight was in working order. Rice, beside him, took from a valise a metal sprayer of the sort used in combating insects; whilst Morgan uncased the big-game riffi e on which he relied despite his colleague’s warnings that no material weapon would be of help. Armitage, having read the hideous diary, knew painfully well what kind of a manifestation to expect; but he did not add to the fright of the Dunwich people by giving any hints or clues. He hoped that it might be conquered without any revelation to the world of the monstrous thing it had escaped. As the shadows gathered, the natives commenced to disperse homeward, anxious to bar themselves indoors despite the present evidence that all human locks and bolts were useless before a force that could bend trees and crush houses when it chose. fi ey shook their heads at the visitors’ plan to stand guard at the Frye ruins near the glen; and as they leffl , had little expectancy of ever seeing the watchers again. fi ere were rumblings under the hills that night, and the whippoorwills piped threateningly. Once in a while a wind, sweeping up out of Cold Spring Glen, would bring a touch of inefl able foetor to the heavy night air; such a foetor as all three of the watchers had smelled once before, when they stood above a dying thing that had passed for ff ffl een years and a half as a human being. But the looked-for terror did not appear. Whatever was down there in the glen was biding its time, and Armitage told his colleagues it would be suicidal to try to attack it in the dark. Morning came wanly, and the night-sounds ceased. It was a grey, bleak day, with now and then a drizzle of rain; and heavier and heavier clouds seemed to be piling themselves up beyond the hills to the northwest. fi e men from Arkham were undecided what to do. Seeking shelter from the increasing rainfall beneath one of the few undestroyed Frye outbuildings, and portent seemed to hover about the strangely domed hills and the deep, and seeing for themselves with rising pangs of horror the drear Frye ruins with manifestation to expect; but he did not heads at the visitors’ plan to stand

35 chapter 2: the dunwich horror they debated the wisdom of waiting, or of taking the aggressive and going down into the glen in quest of their nameless, monstrous quarry. fi e downpour waxed in heaviness, and distant peals of thunder sounded from far horizons. Sheet lightning shimmered, and then a forky bolt ffi ashed near at hand, as if descending into the accursed glen itself. fi e sky grew very dark, and the watchers hoped that the storm would prove a short, sharp one followed by clear weather. It was still gruesomely dark when, not much over an hour later, a confused babel of voices sounded down the road. Another moment brought to view a frightened group of more than a dozen men, running, shouting, and even whimpering hysterically. Someone in the lead began sobbing out words, and the Arkham men started violently when those words developed a coherent form. “Oh, my Gawd, my Gawd,” the voice choked out. “It’s a-goin’ agin, an’ this time by day! It’s aout—it’s aout an’ a-movin’ this very minute, an’ only the Lord knows when it’ll be on us all!” fi e speaker panted into silence, but another took up his message. “Nigh on a haour ago Zeb Whateley here heerd the ’phone a-ringin’, an’ it was Mis’ Corey, George’s wife, that lives daown by the junction. She says the hired boy Luther was aout drivin’ in the caows from the storm arter the big bolt, when he see all the trees a-bendin’ at the maouth o’ the glen—opposite side ter this—an’ smelt the same awful smell like he smelt when he faound the big tracks las’ Monday mornin’. An’ she says he says they was a swishin’, lappin’ saound, more nor what the bendin’ trees an’ bushes could make, an’ all on a suddent the trees along the rud begun ter git pushed one side, an’ they was a awful stompin’ an’ splashin’ in the mud. But mind ye, Luther he didn’t see nothin’ at all, only just the bendin’ trees an’ underbrush. “fi en fur ahead where Bishop’s Brook goes under the rud he heerd a awful creakin’ an’ strainin’ on the bridge, an’ says he could tell the saound o’ wood a-startin’ to crack an’ split. An’ all the whiles he never see a thing, only them trees an’ bushes a-bendin’. An’ when the swishin’ saound got very fur ofl —on the rud towards Wizard Whateley’s an’ Sentinel Hill—Luther he had the guts ter step up whar he’d heerd it furst an’ look at the graound. It was all mud an’ water, an’ the sky was dark, an’ the rain was wipin’ aout all tracks abaout as fast as could be; but beginnin’ at the glen maouth, whar the trees had moved, they was still some o’ them awful prints big as bar’ls like he seen Monday.” At this point the ff rst excited speaker interrupted. “But that ain’t the trouble naow—that was only the start. Zeb here was callin’ folks up an’ everybody was a-listenin’ in when a call from Seth Bishop’s cut in. His haousekeeper Sally was carryin’ on ff t ter kill—she’d jest seed the trees a-bendin’ beside the rud, an’ says they was a kind o’ mushy saound, like a elephant pu n’ an’ treadin’, a-headin’ fer the haouse. fi en she up an’ spoke suddent of a fearful smell, an’ says her boy Cha’ncey was a-screamin’ as haow it was jest like what he smelt up to the Whateley rewins Monday mornin’. An’ the dogs was all barkin’ an’ whinin’ awful. “An’ then she let aout a turrible yell, an’ says the shed daown the rud had jest caved in like the storm hed blowed it over, only the wind wa’n’t strong enough to dew that. Everybody was a-listenin’, an’ we could hear lots o’ folks on the wire a-gaspin’. All to onct Sally she yelled agin, an’ says the front yard picket fence hed just crumbled up, though they wa’n’t no sign o’ what done it. fi en everybody on the line could hear Cha’ncey an’ ol’ Seth Bishop a-yellin’ tew, an’ Sally was shriekin’ aout that suthin’ heavy hed struck the haouse— not lightnin’ nor nothin’, but suthin’ heavy agin the front, that kep’ a-launchin’ itself agin an’ agin, though ye couldn’t see nothin’ aout the front winders. An’ then . . . an’ then . . .” Lines of fright deepened on every face; and Armitage, shaken as he was, had barely poise enough to prompt the speaker. “An’ then . . . Sally she yelled aout, ’O help, the haouse is a-cavin’ in’ . . . an’ on the wire we could hear a turrible crashin’, an’ a hull ffi ock o’ screamin’ . . . jest like when Elmer Frye’s place was took, only wuss. . . .” fi e man paused, and another of the crowd spoke. “fi at’s all—not a saound nor squeak over the ’phone arter that. Jest still-like. We that heerd it got aout Fords an’ wagons an’ raounded up as many able-bodied menfolks as we could git, at Corey’s place, an’ come up here ter see what yew thought best ter dew. Not but what I think it’s the Lord’s jedgment fer our iniquities, that no mortal kin ever set aside.” Armitage saw that the time for positive action had come, and spoke decisively to the faltering group of frightened rustics. “We must follow it, boys.” He made his voice as reassuring as possible. “I believe there’s a chance of putting it out of business. You men know that those Whateleys were wizards—well, this thing is a thing of wizardry, and must be put down by the same means. I’ve seen Wilbur Whateley’s diary and read some of the strange old books he used to read; and I think I know the right kind of spell to recite to make the thing fade away. Of course, one can’t be sure, but we can always take a chance. It’s invisible—I knew it would be—but there’s a powder in this long-distance sprayer that might make it shew up for a second. Later on we’ll try it. It’s a frightful thing to have alive, but it isn’t as bad as what Wilbur would have let in if he’d lived longer. You’ll never know what the world has escaped. Now we’ve only this one thing to ff ght, and it can’t multiply. It can, though, do a lot of harm; so we mustn’t hesitate to rid the community of it. “We must follow it—and the way to begin is to go to the place that has just been wrecked. Let somebody lead the way—I don’t know your roads very well, but I’ve an idea there might be a shorter cut across lots. How about it?” fi e men shu ed about a moment, and then Earl Sawyer spoke soffl ly, pointing with a grimy ff nger through the steadily lessening rain. “I guess ye kin git to Seth Bishop’s quickest by cuttin’ acrost the lower medder here, wadin’ the brook at the low place, an’ climbin’ through Carrier’s mowin’ and the timberlot beyont. fi at comes aout on the upper rud mighty nigh Seth’s—a leetle t’other side.”

36 investigator handbook Armitage, with Rice and Morgan, started to walk in the direction indicated; and most of the natives followed slowly. fi e sky was growing lighter, and there were signs that the storm had worn itself away. When Armitage inadvertently took a wrong direction, Joe Osborn warned him and walked ahead to shew the right one. Courage and conff dence were mounting; though the twilight of the almost perpendicular wooded hill which lay toward the end of their short cut, and among whose fantastic ancient trees they had to scramble as if up a ladder, put these qualities to a severe test. At length they emerged on a muddy road to ff nd the sun coming out. fi ey were a little beyond the Seth Bishop place, but bent trees and hideously unmistakable tracks shewed what had passed by. Only a few moments were consumed in surveying the ruins just around the bend. It was the Frye incident all over again, and nothing dead or living was found in either of the collapsed shells which had been the Bishop house and barn. No one cared to remain there amidst the stench and tarry stickiness, but all turned instinctively to the line of horrible prints leading on toward the wrecked Whateley farmhouse and the altar-crowned slopes of Sentinel Hill. As the men passed the site of Wilbur Whateley’s abode they shuddered visibly, and seemed again to mix hesitancy with their zeal. It was no joke tracking down something as big as a house that one could not see, but that had all the vicious malevolence of a daemon. Opposite the base of Sentinel Hill the tracks leffl the road, and there was a fresh bending and matting visible along the broad swath marking the monster’s former route to and from the summit. Armitage produced a pocket telescope of considerable power and scanned the steep green side of the hill. fi en he handed the instrument to Morgan, whose sight was keener. Affl er a moment of gazing Morgan cried out sharply, passing the glass to Earl Sawyer and indicating a certain spot on the slope with his ff nger. Sawyer, as clumsy as most non-users of optical devices are, fumbled a while; but eventually focussed the lenses with Armitage’s aid. When he did so his cry was less restrained than Morgan’s had been. “Gawd almighty, the grass an’ bushes is a-movin’! It’s a-goin’ up—slow-like—creepin’ up ter the top this minute, heaven only knows what fur!” fi en the germ of panic seemed to spread among the seekers. It was one thing to chase the nameless entity, but quite another to ff nd it. Spells might be all right—but suppose they weren’t? Voices began questioning Armitage about what he knew of the thing, and no reply seemed quite to satisfy. Everyone seemed to feel himself in close proximity to phases of Nature and of being utterly forbidden, and wholly outside the sane experience of mankind. X. In the end the three men from Arkham—old, white-bearded Dr. Armitage, stocky, iron-grey Professor Rice, and lean, youngish Dr. Morgan—ascended the mountain alone. Affl er much patient instruction regarding its focussing and use, they leffl the telescope with the frightened group that remained in the road; and as they climbed they were watched closely by those among whom the glass was passed around. It was hard going, and Armitage had to be helped more than once. High above the toiling group the great swath trembled as its hellish maker re-passed with snail-like deliberateness. fi en it was obvious that the pursuers were gaining. Curtis Whateley—of the undecayed branch—was holding the telescope when the Arkham party detoured radically from the swath. He told the crowd that the men were evidently trying to get to a subordinate peak which overlooked the swath at a point considerably ahead of where the shrubbery was now bending. fi is, indeed, proved to be true; and the party were seen to gain the minor elevation only a short time affl er the invisible blasphemy h a d passed it.

37 chapter 2: the dunwich horror fi en Wesley Corey, who had taken the glass, cried out that Armitage was adjusting the sprayer which Rice held, and that something must be about to happen. fi e crowd stirred uneasily, recalling that this sprayer was expected to give the unseen horror a moment of visibility. Two or three men shut their eyes, but Curtis Whateley snatched back the telescope and strained his vision to the utmost. He saw that Rice, from the party’s point of vantage above and behind the entity, had an excellent chance of spreading the potent powder with marvellous efl ect. fi ose without the telescope saw only an instant’s ffi ash of grey cloud—a cloud about the size of a moderately large building—near the top of the mountain. Curtis, who had held the instrument, dropped it with a piercing shriek into the ankle-deep mud of the road. He reeled, and would have crumpled to the ground had not two or three others seized and steadied him. All he could do was moan half-inaudibly, “Oh, oh, great Gawd . . . that . . . that . . .” fi ere was a pandemonium of questioning, and only Henry Wheeler thought to rescue the fallen telescope and wipe it clean of mud. Curtis was past all coherence, and even isolated replies were almost too much for him. “Bigger’n a barn . . . all made o’ squirmin’ ropes . . . hull thing sort o’ shaped like a hen’s egg bigger’n anything, with dozens o’ legs like hogsheads that hafl shut up when they step . . . nothin’ solid abaout it—all like jelly, an’ made o’ sep’rit wrigglin’ ropes pushed clost together . . . great bulgin’ eyes all over it . . . ten or twenty maouths or trunks a-stickin’ aout all along the sides, big as stovepipes, an’ all a-tossin’ an’ openin’ an’ shuttin’ . . . all grey, with kinder blue or purple rings . . . an’ Gawd in heaven—that haffl face on top! . . .” fi is ff nal memory, whatever it was, proved too much for poor Curtis; and he collapsed completely before he could say more. Fred Farr and Will Hutchins carried him to the roadside and laid him on the damp grass. Henry Wheeler, trembling, turned the rescued telescope on the mountain to see what he might. fi rough the lenses were discernible three tiny ff gures, apparently running toward the summit as fast as the steep incline allowed. Only these—nothing more. fi en everyone noticed a strangely unseasonable noise in the deep valley behind, and even in the underbrush of Sentinel Hill itself. It was the piping of unnumbered whippoorwills, and in their shrill chorus there seemed to lurk a note of tense and evil expectancy. Earl Sawyer now took the telescope and reported the three ff gures as standing on the topmost ridge, virtually level with the altar-stone but at a considerable distance from it. One ff gure, he said, seemed to be raising its hands above its head at rhythmic intervals; and as Sawyer mentioned the circumstance the crowd seemed to hear a faint, half-musical sound from the distance, as if a loud chant were accompanying the gestures. fi e weird silhouette on that remote peak must have been a spectacle of inff nite grotesqueness and impressiveness, but no observer was in a mood for aesthetic appreciation. “I guess he’s sayin’ the spell,” whispered Wheeler as he snatched back the telescope. fi e whippoorwills were piping wildly, and in a singularly curious irregular rhythm quite unlike that of the visible ritual. Suddenly the sunshine seemed to lessen without the intervention of any discernible cloud. It was a very peculiar phenomenon, and was plainly marked by all. A rumbling sound seemed brewing beneath the hills, mixed strangely with a concordant rumbling which clearly came from the sky. Lightning ffi ashed aloffl , and the wondering crowd looked in vain for the portents of storm. fi e chanting of the men from Arkham now became unmistakable, and Wheeler saw through the glass that they were all raising their arms in the rhythmic incantation. From some farmhouse far away came the frantic barking of dogs. fi e change in the quality of the daylight increased, and the crowd gazed about the horizon in wonder. A purplish darkness, born of nothing more than a spectral deepening of the sky’s blue, pressed down upon the rumbling hills. fi en the lightning ffi ashed again, somewhat brighter than before, and the crowd fancied that it had shewed a certain mistiness around the altar-stone on the distant height. No one, however, had been using the telescope at that instant. fi e whippoorwills continued their irregular pulsation, and the men of Dunwich braced themselves tensely against some imponderable menace with which the atmosphere seemed surcharged. Without warning came those deep, cracked, raucous vocal sounds which will never leave the memory of the stricken group who heard them. Not from any human throat were they born, for the organs of man can yield no such acoustic perversions. Rather would one have said they came from the pit itself, had not their source been so unmistakably the altarstone on the peak. It is almost erroneous to call them sounds at all, since so much of their ghastly, infra-bass timbre spoke to dim seats of consciousness and terror far subtler than the ear; yet one must do so, since their form was indisputably though vaguely that of half-articulate words. fi ey were loud—loud as the rumblings and the thunder above which they echoed—yet did they come from no visible being. And because imagination might suggest a conjectural source in the world of non-visible beings, the huddled crowd at the mountain’s base huddled still closer, and winced as if in expectation of a blow. “Ygnaiih . . . ygnaiih . . . thffi thkh’ngha . . . Yog-Sothoth . . .” rang the hideous croaking out of space. “Y’bthnk . . . h’ehye—n’grkdl’lh. . . .” fi e speaking impulse seemed to falter here, as if some frightful psychic struggle were going on. Henry Wheeler strained his eye at the telescope, but saw only the three grotesquely silhouetted human ff gures on the peak, all moving their arms furiously in strange gestures as their incantation drew near its culmination. From what black wells of Acherontic fear or feeling, from what unplumbed gulfs of extra-cosmic consciousness or obscure, long-latent heredity, were those half-articulate thunder-croakings drawn? Presently they began to gather renewed force and coherence as they grew in stark, utter, ultimate frenzy.

38 investigator handbook

39 chapter 2: the dunwich horror “Eh-ya-ya-ya-yahaah—e’yayayayaaaa . . . ngh’aaaaa . . . ngh’aaaa . . . h’yuh . . . h’yuh . . . HELP! HELP! . . . ffl —ffl —ffl — FATHER! FATHER! YOG-SOTHOTH! . . .” But that was all. fi e pallid group in the road, still reeling at the indisputably English syllables that had poured thickly and thunderously down from the frantic vacancy beside that shocking altar-stone, were never to hear such syllables again. Instead, they jumped violently at the terriff c report which seemed to rend the hills; the deafening, cataclysmic peal whose source, be it inner earth or sky, no hearer was ever able to place. A single lightning-bolt shot from the purple zenith to the altar-stone, and a great tidal wave of viewless force and indescribable stench swept down from the hill to all the countryside. Trees, grass, and underbrush were whipped into a fury; and the frightened crowd at the mountain’s base, weakened by the lethal foetor that seemed about to asphyxiate them, were almost hurled ofl their feet. Dogs howled from the distance, green grass and foliage wilted to a curious, sickly yellow-grey, and over ff eld and forest were scattered the bodies of dead whippoorwills. fi e stench leffl quickly, but the vegetation never came right again. To this day there is something queer and unholy about the growths on and around that fearsome hill. Curtis Whateley was only just regaining consciousness when the Arkham men came slowly down the mountain in the beams of a sunlight once more brilliant and untainted. fi ey were grave and quiet, and seemed shaken by memories and reffi ections even more terrible than those which had reduced the group of natives to a state of cowed quivering. In reply to a jumble of questions they only shook their heads and rea rmed one vital fact. “fi e thing has gone forever,” Armitage said. “It has been split up into what it was originally made of, and can never exist again. It was an impossibility in a normal world. Only the least fraction was really matter in any sense we know. It was like its father—and most of it has gone back to him in some vague realm or dimension outside our material universe; some vague abyss out of which only the most accursed rites of human blasphemy could ever have called him for a moment on the hills.” fi ere was a brief silence, and in that pause the scattered senses of poor Curtis Whateley began to knit back into a sort of continuity; so that he put his hands to his head with a moan. Memory seemed to pick itself up where it had leffl ofl , and the horror of the sight that had prostrated him burst in upon him again. “Oh, oh, my Gawd, that haffl face—that haffl face on top of it . . . that face with the red eyes an’ crinkly albino hair, an’ no chin, like the Whateleys . . . It was a octopus, centipede, spider kind o’ thing, but they was a haffl -shaped man’s face on top of it, an’ it looked like Wizard Whateley’s, only it was yards an’ yards acrost. . . .” He paused exhausted, as the whole group of natives stared in a bewilderment not quite crystallised into fresh terror. Only old Zebulon Whateley, who wanderingly remembered ancient things but who had been silent heretofore, spoke aloud. “Fiffl een year’ gone,” he rambled, “I heerd Ol’ Whateley say as haow some day we’d hear a child o’ Lavinny’s a-callin’ its father’s name on the top o’ Sentinel Hill. . . .” But Joe Osborn interrupted him to question the Arkham men anew. “What was it anyhaow, an’ haowever did young Wizard Whateley call it aout o’ the air it come from?” Armitage chose his words very carefully. “It was—well, it was mostly a kind of force that doesn’t belong in our part of space; a kind of force that acts and grows and shapes itself by other laws than those of our sort of Nature. We have no business calling in such things from outside, and only very wicked people and very wicked cults ever try to. fi ere was some of it in Wilbur Whateley himself—enough to make a devil and a precocious monster of him, and to make his passing out a pretty terrible sight. I’m going to burn his accursed diary, and if you men are wise you’ll dynamite that altar-stone up there, and pull down all the rings of standing stones on the other hills. fi ings like that brought down the beings those Whateleys were so fond of—the beings they were going to let in tangibly to wipe out the human race and drag the earth ofl to some nameless place for some nameless purpose. “But as to this thing we’ve just sent back—the Whateleys raised it for a terrible part in the doings that were to come. It grew fast and big from the same reason that Wilbur grew fast and big—but it beat him because it had a greater share of the outsideness in it. You needn’t ask how Wilbur called it out of the air. He didn’t call it out. It was his twin brother, but it looked more like the father than he did.”

42 investigator handbook About This Chapter n Call of Cthulhu, each player takes the role of an investigator, someone whose mission is to unearth hidden secrets, discover forgotten places and, armed with knowledge which man was not meant to know, stand against the bloodcurdling horrors of the Cthulhu Mythos. Working as a team, investigators can come from disparate backgrounds and be of varied occupations—each bringing certain expertise to the group. Together, joined in comradeship and common purpose, you will stand steadfast against the coming darkness. fi is chapter provides the rules for creating investigator player characters. At the end of this chapter you’ll also ff nd some alternative methods for creating investigators. A two-page spread that provides a handy summary for quick reference can be found on pages 64-65. Before You Roll the Dice Behind every investigator’s characteristics and skills lies your imagination. Before you begin rolling dice you should talk to the Keeper and ask for guidance on creating a suitable investigator for the scenario that you are going to play. fi e Keeper may stipulate strict guidelines, such as which professions you can chose from, or may leave it completely open to you. Key aspects you should note include: Y fi e period or date when the scenario takes place. Y fi e location or country in which the game is set. Y fi e scenario’s initial premise or set-up. Y Does the Keeper recommend any occupations? Y Suggestions for how the investigators might know each other. fi e Keeper may tell you a great deal or very little about the scenario. Listen to what is said and ask any questions you may have. Once you have an idea for an investigator, run it past your Keeper for approval. Unless the Keeper states otherwise, it’s a good idea to chat with the other players and bounce ideas around. fi is conversation can serve to stimulate imagination and create links between the investigators, helping to create a suitable mix of player characters. fi e more strongly you can tie your investigator to the Keeper’s initial game premise the better. Consider it your responsibility to embed your investigator into the Keeper’s scenario or campaign premise. If the Keeper says the investigators are going to be hired for an investigation, think about making an investigator who needs the money. Alternatively, the Keeper might say that the game begins as a murder investigation, thus you could ask if the victim could be your investigator’s brother or close friend. If the premise asks that your investigator be part of an academic team attending a conference, perhaps your character could be one of the speakers. Giving your investigator more relevance to the story and making the "hook" stronger will make the game better. fi e Keeper will provide an interesting plot, but he or she doesn’t necessarily know what’s going to grab your attention and push your buttons as a player. Any connections that you create between your investigator and the plot are likely to hold greater emotional resonance for you than anything the Keeper supplies. If the Keeper is unable to give much of a premise you can still create some interesting facets to your investigator without knowing how they will come into play. fi e Keeper may pick up on some of these facets and incorporate them into the scenario. Creating Your Investigator fi ere is more than one approach to creating an investigator. Some people prefer to have an idea about the type of investigator they wish to create before rolling any dice, while others prefer to let the dice rolls guide their choices. What follows are the standard rules for creating investigators, with further options at the end of this chapter. investigator handbook Investigator Creation Creating your own investigator from scratch is great fun. The rules detail rolling your investigator’s statistics, choosing an occupation and skills, and developing a personal history. When beginning a game of Call of Cthulhu, it is recommended that all the players "roll-up" their investigators together in the company of the person who will be taking on the role of Keeper— this ensures that everyone helps to form the group, with each investigator taking an agreed role, ensuring that a balance of skills and occupations is found.

43 chapter 3: creating investigators The Steps Here are the ff ve steps to creating an investigator: Y Step One: Generate Characteristics Y Step Two: Determine Occupation Y Step fi ree: Decide Skills and allocate Skill Points Y Step Four: Create backstory Y Step Five: Equip investigator Step One: Generate Characteristics A characteristic is one of eight numbers that create the foundations for an investigator. In the game each characteristic represents an aspect of an investigator—intelligence, dexterity, and so on. fi ese identiff ed quantities determine the relative capability of investigators and suggest ways for them to act and react during play. Characteristic values are generated randomly by rolling two or more six-sided dice. Each rolled result is then multiplied by 5 to generate a percentage number that may range between 15% and 90%. Rolling Characteristics Initially, write your results on a piece of scrap paper before writing them onto the investigator sheet as they may be modiff ed by the age of your investigator. STR (Strength): Roll 3D6 and Multiply by 5 to generate the Strength Characteristic. Strength measures the muscle power of an investigator. fi e higher it is, the more the investigator can liffl or tightly cling to something. fi is characteristic determines the damage an investigator inffi icts in hand-to-hand combat. Reduced to STR 0, an investigator is an invalid, unable to get out of bed. CON (Constitution): Roll 3D6 and Multiply by 5 to generate the Constitution Characteristic. Constitution represents health, vigor, and vitality. Poisons and diseases may directly challenge an investigator’s constitution. Investigators with a high constitution offl en have more hit points—the better to resist injury and attack. Serious physical injury or magical attack might lower the statistic, and if Constitution reaches zero the investigator dies. Enhancing Your Character's Background The Keeper has presented an initial premise for the game, which involves an expedition team from the Miskatonic University traveling into the wilds in search of a missing colleague. Amy asks if her investigator might work in the same department as the missing person. The Keeper agrees. Amy takes it a step further: “This missing colleague and I were in competition, both seeking to publish a paper on the same topic.” Amy is pushing to fi nd out more. The Keeper informs her that she knows little about the true aims of her colleague’s expedition—perhaps if she can fi nd out more then she could potentially take the credit! Amy’s investigator now has a strong motivation and the Keeper has a new element to introduce into the plot. Enhancing Your Character's Background Investigators may come from all walks of life and social backgrounds

44 investigator handbook SIZ (Size): Roll 2D6+6 and Multiply by 5 to generate a Size Characteristic. Size averages both height and weight into a single number. To see over a wall, to squeeze through a small opening, or even to judge whose head might be sticking up out of the grass, use size. Size helps determine hit points, damage bonus, and build. One might decrease SIZ to indicate the loss of a limb, though lowering DEX is more offl en the solution. Presumably if investigators lose all SIZ points they disappear—goodness knows to where! DEX (Dexterity): Roll 3D6 and Multiply by 5 to generate a Dexterity Characteristic. Investigators with higher Dexterity scores are quicker, nimbler, and more physically ffi exible. A DEX roll might be made to grab a support to keep from falling, to move faster than an opponent, or to accomplish some delicate task. An investigator with zero DEX is uncoordinated and unable to perform physical tasks. In combat, the character with the highest DEX acts ff rst. APP (Appearance): Roll 3D6 and Multiply by 5 to generate an Appearance Characteristic. Appearance measures both physical attractiveness and personality. A person with high APP is charming and likeable, but may lack conventional good looks. An investigator with APP of 0 is appallingly ugly or someone with a wholly detestable demeanor, provoking comment and shock everywhere. APP may be useful in social encounters or when trying to make a good impression. INT (Intelligence): Roll 2D6+6 and Multiply by 5 to generate an Intelligence Characteristic. Intelligence represents how well investigators learn, remember, analyze information, and solve complex puzzles. An investigator with zero INT is a babbling, drooling idiot. Intelligence determines the number of Personal Interest skill points (multiply INT × 2) allotted to a new investigator Introducing Harvey Walters To help illustrate the various rules of Call of Cthulhu, we are pleased to introduce you to Harvey Walters, the noted 1920s New York journalist and investigator of the supernatural. We use Harvey to demonstrate how character creation works. To differentiate between the person playing Harvey and the actual character of Harvey, the investigator in the game, the player is female and her investigator is male. For a walk-through of Harvey's character creation see page 47. Do Low Characteristics Make Poor Investigators? Often in roleplaying games, the higher the player character’s characteristics, the better the chances for that character’s success in the game. However, in Call of Cthulhu, low characteristic scores do not always mean that the investigator will be hindered and unable to perform as part of the investigator’s group. Often one or two low characteristic scores can help to bring the investigator "to life" and feel more real—as opposed to some incredible superhuman! Rather than rejecting a low roll, try to incorporate it into the overall makeup of your investigator. Perhaps a low dexterity means that the investigator has suffered some form of leg or hand injury while in the armed forces, or a low education is the result of never attending school and being forced to grow up on the streets.

45 chapter 3: creating investigators (see Personal Interests, page 50). INT also acts as the value for both Idea rolls and Intelligence rolls. If the amount of INT seems to contradict another characteristic, that’s another chance for roleplaying and further deff ning your investigator. For example, an investigator with high EDU and low INT might be a pedantic teacher or a sideshow performer, someone who knows facts but not their meanings. Conversely, high INT and low EDU might mean ignorance—such as an uneducated farm boy, new to the Big City—however this person would not be dullwitted. POW (Power): Roll 3D6 and Multiply by 5 to generate a Power Characteristic. Power indicates force of will: the higher the POW, the higher the aptitude for, and resistance to, magic. An investigator with zero POW is zombie-like and without purpose, as well as being unable to use magic. Unless stated otherwise, POW that is lost during the game is lost permanently. Sanity points (SAN) begin the game equal to the character’s POW. POW also dictates the character’s number of "magic points," which, unlike POW, can be spent and regenerated during play. Magic points are equal to one-ff ffl h of POW. fi e POW of ordinary characters and investigators rarely changes. However, those adroit in the mysteries of the magic of the Cthulhu Mythos may be able to increase their personal POW. EDU (Education): Roll 2D6+6 and Multiply by 5 to generate an Education Characteristic. Education is a measure of the formal and factual knowledge possessed by the investigator, as well as indicating the time the investigator has spent in full-time education. EDU measures retained information, not the intelligent application of that information (see Intelligence). An investigator without EDU would be like a newborn baby or an amnesiac—without knowledge of the world, probably very curious and credulous. An EDU of 60 suggests the investigator is a high school graduate, while a score of around 70 indicates a person with some college years. fi ose with an EDU greater than 80 have most likely conducted graduate level work and have a degree, as expected of a person who has been to a university of some kind. Note that sometimes a person with a high Education may not necessarily be schooled in the traditional sense, but rather may be self-taught and possess a highly studious and observant nature. EDU is a factor in determining how many Occupational skill points (see Occupation Skills, page 49) an investigator begins with, and represents the investigator’s starting percentage for the Own Language skill (see page 109). EDU is also used when making Know rolls. Note: From here on, any references to a characteristic are to the full value (dice roll multiplied by ff ve). Any adjustments are made to that value. Luck: Roll 3D6 and Multiply by 5 When creating an investigator roll 3D6 and multiply by 5 for a Luck score. Luck rolls are offl en called for by the Keeper when circumstances external to an investigator are in question, and when determining the ff ckle hand of fate. Age A player can choose any age between 15 and 90 for their investigator. If you wish to create an investigator outside this age range, it is up to the Keeper to adjudicate. Use the appropriate modiff ers for your chosen age only (they are not cumulative). Age Modifiers: 15 to 19: Deduct 5 points among STR and SIZ. Deduct 5 points from EDU. Roll twice to generate a Luck score and use the higher value. 20s or 30s (20-39 years of age): Make an improvement check for EDU. 40s: Make 2 improvement checks for EDU and deduct 5 points among STR, CON or DEX, and reduce APP by 5. 50s: Make 3 improvement checks for EDU and deduct 10 points among STR, CON or DEX, and reduce APP by 10. chapter 3: creating investigators with some college years. fi ose with an EDU greater than 80 have most likely conducted graduate level work and have a degree, as expected of a person who has been to a university of some kind. Note that sometimes a person with a high Education may not necessarily be schooled in the traditional sense, but rather may be self-taught and possess a highly studious and observant nature. chapter 3: creating investigators , page with some college years. fi ose with Writing Numbers on the Investigator Sheet When entering the characteristic values on the investigator sheet, you may fi nd it helpful to enter the raw scores (the number rolled with the original six-sided dice) in the "fi fth" box, then multiply this number by fi ve and enter that number in the characteristic box, and fi nally halve the full characteristic number and enter it in the "half" box, rounding down to the nearest whole number if necessary. While it sounds a bit back-to-front, in practice you may fi nd it makes sense and can speed things up. Alternatively, use the Quick Reference Chart on page 59. Continued on page 48

46 investigator handbook Strength 0 Enfeebled: unable to even stand up or lifi a cup of tea. 15 Puny, weak. 50 Average human strength. 90 One of the strongest people you’ve ever met. 99 World-class (Olympic weightlifi er). Human maximum. 140 Beyond human strength (gorilla or horse). Constitution 0 Dead. 1 Sickly, prone to prolonged illness and probably unable to operate without assistance. 15 Weak health, prone to bouts of ill health, great propensity for feeling pain. 50 Average healthy human. 90 Shrugs off colds, hardy and hale. 99 Iron constitution, able to withstand great amounts of pain. Human maximum. 140 Beyond human constitution (e.g. elephant). Size 1 A baby (1 to 12 pounds). 15 Child, very short in stature (dwarf) (33 pounds / 15 kg). 65 Average human size (moderate height and weight) (170 pounds / 75 kg). 80 Very tall, strongly built, or obese. (240 pounds / 110 kg). 99 Oversize in some respect (330 pounds / 150 kg). 150 Horse or cow (960 pounds / 436 kg). 180 Heaviest human ever recorded (1400 pounds / 634 kg). Note: Some humans may exceed SIZ 99. Dexterity 0 Unable to move without assistance. 15 Slow, clumsy with poor motor skills for ffl ne manipulation. 50 Average human dexterity. 90 Fast, nimble and able to perform feats of ffl ne manipulation (e.g. acrobat, great dancer). 99 World-class athlete (e.g. Olympic standard). Human maximum. 120 Beyond human dexterity (e.g. tiger). Appearance 0 So unsightly that others are aff ected by fear, revulsion, or pity. 15 Ugly, possibly disffl gured due to injury or at birth. 50 Average human appearance. 90 One of the most charming people you could meet, natural magnetism. 99* ffi e height of glamour and cool (supermodel or world renowned ffl lm star). Human maximum. Note: *APP is used only for humans, and does not exceed 99. Intelligence 0 No intellect, unable to comprehend the world around them. 15 Slow learner, able to undertake only the most basic math, or read beginner-level books. 50 Average human intellect. 90 Quick-witted, probably able to comprehend multiple languages or theorems. 99 Genius (Einstein, Da Vinci, Tesla, etc.). Human maximum. Power 0 Enfeebled mind, no willpower or drive, no magical potential. 15 Weak-willed, easily dominated by those with a greater intellect or willpower. 50 Average human. 90 Strong willed, driven, a high potential to connect with the unseen and magical. 100 Iron will, strong connection to the spiritual “realm” or unseen world. 140 Beyond human, possibly alien. Note: Human POW can exceed 100, but this is exceptional. Education 0 A newborn baby. 15 Completely uneducated in every way. 60 High school graduate. 70 College graduate (Bachelor degree). 80 Degree level graduate (Master's degree). 90 Doctorate, professor. 96 World-class authority in their ffl eld of study. 99 Human maximum. What The Numbers Mean

47 chapter 3: creating investigators To start, we need to roll-up Harvey’s characteristics. Let’s roll some dice and see his scores. fi e player takes up a fresh investigator sheet and a pencil, and then she rolls some six-sided dice. We rolled a 4 for Harvey, which when multiplied by 5, gives him a Strength of 20%. fi is is abysmal. Harvey is exceptionally puny and weak, but the player is not dismayed—Call of Cthulhu is an unusual game and all kinds of investigators are needed. Luckily for Harvey, the player next rolled a 14, which makes a CON of 70%. fi is is good, and Harvey will be fairly hardy. fi is may help make up for his low STR. Harvey’s other characteristics work out as: SIZ of 80% (all that time sitting reading and having no exercise means that it is likely that he is overweight); DEX 60% (a high average); APP 85% (whatever his other ffi aws, Harvey has a sparkling personality); INT 85% (an excellent score); POW 45% (which gives him 9 magic points but a low starting Sanity—he begins with 45 SAN); EDU 80% (Harvey can be assumed to have graduated from college). Harvey’s player rolls 9 to determine his Luck value, so Harvey begins the game with Luck 45. His player wants Harvey to be 42 year old, with some experience under his belt. She makes two experience checks for Education. Harvey’s EDU is 80. Her ff rst roll of 86 earns a reward of 4 points (1D10). Harvey’s Education is now 84. Her second roll of 82 fails to earn any reward. She then reduces his DEX by 5 to 55 and APP by 5 to 80; he’s not as spritely as he once was but he’s still a handsome chap. With all of the characteristics done, his player can now write in the half and ff ffl h values for each of them. Harvey’s EDU 84 is divided by 2, giving a Half value of 42%. fi en divided by 5 for the Fiffl h value (84 divided by 5, rounded down, equaling 16%). Harvey’s player writes these scores on the investigator sheet in the boxes provided and repeats the exercise for all the other characteristics. Now Harvey’s Damage Bonus and Build are determined. Harvey Walters has no damage bonus and 0 build, as his STR and SIZ add up to a total of 100. With CON 70 and SIZ 80 totaling 150, Harvey has 15 hit points (150 divided by 10 = 15). Harvey Walters has STR 20, SIZ 80, and DEX 55. His STR and DEX are each less than his SIZ so Harvey’s MOV is 7. He is 42 years of age, and so this is reduced by a further point to MOV 6. Harvey will not be winning many chases. It's decided that Harvey will be a journalist, working for Enigma Magazine. Journalists use EDU × 4 to calculate their occupation skill points. Harvey’s EDU 84 (multiplied by 4) yields 336 points to add to the skills listed for the Journalist occupation, as well as for his Credit Rating value. His present skill in Own Language (English) is already 84% (EDU), so Harvey’s player decides not to add further points to that skill. She decides that Harvey would know Latin; it has a base chance of 01%, and she adds 65 of her 336 points to make a skill total of Latin 66%. Now he is at home in a language offl en encountered in Mythos researches. 271 occupation skill points remain to be spent. Next, she adds 60 to his Persuade rating, raising it to 70%. To evaluate the people he questions, his player adds 55 to make a 65% Psychology. As an investigative reporter, Harvey is well equipped to ask questions and get honest answers. Now 156 occupation skill points remain. Every reporter needs to collect evidence, so his player puts 20 points into Art/Craffl (choosing Photography) for 25% total, since seeing is believing in the 1920s. Now 136 occupation points are leffl . While the Journalist occupation gives a Credit Rating range of 9–30, the player asks to invest more points as Harvey comes from a wealthy family—the Keeper agrees to this request. Journalists are permitted two skills as personal specialties: she chooses Archaeology, and adds 38 points to that for 39% and 57 points for Law, for a total of 62% in that skill. Harvey’s player has spent all the Journalist occupation points. Harvey has good communication skills, useful for a reporter, and a Mythos-related skill, Archaeology. Harvey’s INT is 85, so his personal interest skill point total is 170 points (85 × 2 = 170). fi ese points can be spent as the player desires. Harvey’s player spends 49 points for Pilot Aircraffl 50% (“because it sounds exciting”) and, since she ff gures that Harvey could spend much time researching mysterious events and facts, she adds 35 points to Library Use, raising it to 55%. fi ere are 86 personal interest skill points leffl and she splits these up to round out Harvey’s more general (but useful) skills: adding 20 for Listen 45%, 25 for Occult 30% (this low score shows that while Harvey has some knowledge of the occult, he still has much to learn), and the remaining 41 to Archaeology, a personal favourite, raising it to 80%. Since Harvey’s pen is mightier than the sword, she decides not to increase his Fighting or Firearms skills above their base chance. With all of his points spent, his player writes down the half and ff ffl h values for each of the skills on the investigator sheet. Harvey's player allocated 41 occupation skill points for Credit Rating, which means that he has an Average living standard. He may stay in moderately priced hotels, eat out (economically), and take the occasional taxi. For his backstory, Harvey’s player choses "handsome, well-dressed and a little overweight" for his personal description. She then uses the random tables for the rest of Harvey’s background. First a 4 is rolled for beliefs: “fate”. fi is seems to ff t with Harvey; he is perhaps superstitious. Next a 2 for signiff cant people: “grandparent”. Harvey’s Example of Investigator Creation

48 investigator handbook player prefers the idea of an uncle and so goes with that instead; but why is he important to Harvey? A 9 is rolled for ‘Why?’ indicating that Harvey wishes to prove himself better than his uncle. Meaningful Locations is next. A roll of 4 yields, “a place for quiet contemplation”. Harvey is a studious fellow, perhaps he enjoys sitting in his study as he ponders his writings. Next, with a roll of 1, we have an item connected with his highest skill. Harvey has 80% in Archaeology, so the Keeper suggests that perhaps Harvey’s uncle was a keen archaeologist and passed the knowledge and passion onto Harvey as a child. fi is ties in with his uncle. fi e idea clicks with the player, and she states how Harvey’s uncle was obsessed with Archaeology, but is now a shell of a man. While this has been attributed to dementia, perhaps there is another cause; perhaps there is something hidden among those old artifacts he collected that led him down the path of madness? fi ese archaeological ff nds now reside in Harvey’s study. Harvey believes he is more determined and of stronger mind than his uncle, and that he will triumph where his uncle failed. Last of all we roll a 7 for Harvey’s trait: “Ladies’ man”. fi is ff ts perfectly well; Harvey is a good-looking fellow. Harvey doesn’t need anything else to begin play, just a notebook, pen, and a lucky penny. If he were to list a car among his starting gear, this would have to come out of his assets, as a car is not listed within the 1920s Average Income bracket. Harvey is now ready to begin his adventures! 60s: Make 4 improvement checks for EDU and deduct 20 points among STR, CON or DEX, and reduce APP by 15. 70s: Make 4 improvement checks for EDU and deduct 40 points among STR, CON or DEX, and reduce APP by 20. 80s: Make 4 improvement checks for EDU and deduct 80 points among STR, CON or DEX, and reduce APP by 25. To make an EDU improvement check, simply roll percentage dice. If the result is greater than your present EDU add 1D10 percentage points to your EDU characteristic (note that EDU cannot go above 99). Half and Fifth Characteristic Values Once the percentage values for each characteristic have been determined, the next step is to write in the half and ff ffl h values for each characteristic on the investigator sheet (each characteristic has three boxes: a large box for the full value and two smaller ones for the half and ff ffl h values). Divide the percentage value by two, rounding down, and write in the “half ” percentage value. Divide the percentage value by ff ve, rounding down, and enter the "ff ffl h" value affl er the half value. When a "characteristic value" is referred to in the text, this means the full value (highest number). Where half or ff ffl h values are required, this will be clearly stated, normally called Hard (half value) and Extreme (ff ffl h value) rolls. Half and ff ffl h are the only fractions used in relation to characteristics and skills in the game and all the numbers are calculated up front so that play is not hindered by mental calculations. A Quick Reference Chart for Half and Fiff h Values can be found on page 59. Other Attributes Damage Bonus and Build [STR & SIZ] All investigators have attributes known as "Damage Bonus" (DB) and Build. Larger and stronger creatures and humans do more physical damage than their lesser brethren. To determine damage bonus, add STR to SIZ and look up the total on Table I: Damage Bonus and Build (see opposite), reading across to ff nd the damage bonus. Each Someone with a combined STR and SIZ of 134 would add 1D4 to hand-to-hand damage rolls, while a weakling investigator whose combined value is only 70 would deduct 1 point from melee damage. Someone with a combined STR and SIZ of 134 would add 1D4 to hand-to-hand damage rolls, while a weakling investigator whose combined value is only 70 would deduct Table I: Damage Bonus and Build STR + SIZ Damage Bonus Build 2 — 64 –2 –2 65 — 84 –1 –1 85 — 124 None 0 125 — 164 +1D4 +1 165 — 204 +1D6 +2 Table I:

49 chapter 3: creating investigators range of results correlates with a die modiff er or dice roll. Build is determined using the same ff gures. In hand-to-hand combat, add the indicated modiff er or roll to all the character’s blows, whether using a natural weapon, such as a ff st, or a melee weapon, such as a club or knife. Build is used in ff ghting maneuvers and also to give a sense of scale. Note: Damage bonus is not applied to ff rearms attacks. Hit Points [CON & SIZ] Hit points are used to track the cumulative damage inffi icted upon an investigator, non-player character, or monster during the game and indicates how long he or she can stay in the action before collapsing from pain, exhaustion, or death. Figure out the character’s hit point total by adding CON and SIZ, then dividing the total by ten (rounding down any fractions). fi e investigator sheet is designed to help the player keep track of hit points and wounds. Enter the investigator’s Hit Point Total in the box marked "Hit Points". Movement Rate (MOV) An investigator can move a number of yards (or meters) up to ff ve times their MOV value in one round. If both DEX and STR are each less than SIZ: MOV 7 If either STR or DEX is equal to or greater than SIZ, or if all three are equal: MOV 8 If both STR and DEX are each greater than SIZ: MOV 9 If age is in the 40s: deduct 1 from MOV If age is in the 50s: deduct 2 from MOV If age is in the 60s: deduct 3 from MOV If age is in the 70s: deduct 4 from MOV If age is in the 80s: deduct 5 from MOV Step Two: Determine Occupation An occupation shows how an investigator makes a living, be it as a doctor, student, or lowlife fraudster. An occupation also reffi ects a particular investigator’s ff eld of expertise and so dictates which of their skills should be higher. fi e actual occupation of your investigator will have limited efl ect during the game; it is simply a basis for your investigator’s starting skills and helps to deff ne his or her backstory. Some occupations are typically Lovecraffl ian: Antiquarian, Author, Dilettante, Doctor of Medicine, Journalist, Police Detective, and Professor. Other occupations are not those you would normally ff nd in a Lovecraffl story; however, they may interest particular players and be fun to play in a Call of Cthulhu game. An occupation ties together a cluster of skills. For instance, in the sample occupations, Antiquarian encompasses: Appraise, Art/Craffl , History, Library Use, Other Language, one interpersonal skill (Charm, Fast Talk, Intimidate, or Persuade), Spot Hidden, and one other skill of the player’s choice (to reffi ect something special or relevant about the investigator’s past). Some occupations include no free choices; others may have two or more. Chapter 4: Occupations provides a wide range of possible investigator occupations. Most occupations can be applied to pretty much any historical setting in which games might take place. However, some occupations, like Hacker, exist only in speciff c settings, such as the modern-day. You should choose only those skills appropriate to the time period in which your game is taking place. If you’re unsure about this, talk to your Keeper. Once you have chosen the occupation for your investigator, write it down on the investigator sheet and then make a note of the occupational skills. Skill deff nitions can be found in Chapter 5: Skills. Step Three: Decide Skills and Allocate Skill Points Occupation Skills Affl er you have chosen an occupation, calculate your occupation skill points using the characteristics speciff ed alongside the occupation. Allocate the resulting total as percentage points among those skills listed for the occupation—your investigator’s professional skills. Points should also be allocated to Credit Rating within the range indicated for the occupation. Not all the skills need to have points allotted to them; however, points leffl undistributed are lost. Note that each skill has a number in parenthesis next to it on the investigator sheet: this is the base chance of success in that skill, and any points allocated to that skill are added to this base number. Write down the total points for each skill on the investigator sheet (the points you’ve allocated plus the base chance printed on the investigator sheet). fi e sheet also has space to write in the half and ff ffl h values for each skill, allowing you to reference them quickly in the middle of a game. A Quick Reference Chart for Half and Fiffl h Values can be found on page 59. It is advised that you allocate occupation skill points and then personal interest skill points before writing in the half and ff ffl h values alongside the full value for each skill, as personal interest skill points can be used to bolster occupation skills, as well as other non-occupation skills (see Personal Interests following).

50 investigator handbook Personal Interests Investigators also draw upon experience and knowledge gained from hobbies and other non-professional activities, called personal interests. Multiply the investigator’s INT × 2 and allot the points to any skills (which can include adding further points to occupation skills), except Cthulhu Mythos (unless otherwise agreed with the Keeper). Write down the total points for each skill on the investigator sheet (the points you’ve allocated plus the base chance printed on the investigator sheet). fi e sheet also has space to write in the half and ff ffl h values for each skill, allowing you to reference them quickly in the middle of a game. A Quick Reference Chart for Half and Fiff h Values can be found on page 59. Weapons and Firearm Skills Fighting and Firearms skills, and their various specializations, allow an investigator to use weapons. Personal interest or occupation skill points (if applicable) may be spent to raise any of these skills. When an occupation includes the skill of Fighting or Firearms, and no specialization is speciff ed, it is up to the player to choose one or more specializations of that skill (see Chapter 5: Skills). Credit Rating An investigator’s starting Credit Rating (CR) is determined during character creation, based upon the investigator’s chosen profession (see Chapter 4: Occupations). In play, Credit Rating determines the amount of money a character has available. Credit Rating also indicates the general living standards a person can afl ord, as well indicating the character’s relative status in society (see Credit Rating in Chapter 5: Skills page 102). Your investigator’s Credit Rating skill begins at zero. fi e range of starting levels for each profession can be broad, and the level chosen should reffi ect the investigator’s rank in that profession. For example, criminal could be used as a profession for a poor lone pickpocket (Credit Rating 09) or for a wealthy gang boss (Credit Rating 90). Any number of skill points can be invested in Credit Rating within the recommended limits for that profession. fi ere are six living standards: penniless, poor, average, wealthy, rich, and super rich. Each one determines the lifestyle, type of accommodation, travel, and expenses that a person can comfortably afl ord on a day-to-day basis. See the box nearby for more information about the difl erent living standard based upon Credit Rating. Step Four: Create a Backstory Not one man who participated in that terrible raid could ever be induced to say a word concerning it, and every fragment of the vague data which survives comes from those outside the fi nal fi ghting party. ff ere is something frightful in the care with which these actual raiders destroyed each scrap which bore the least allusion to the matter. —H. P. Lovecraffl , ff e Case Of Charles Dexter Ward Most of the ideas and abilities that make an investigator interesting and fun to play are a matter of choice—not necessarily dice roll results. fi ink about what personal history, friends, enemies, and achievements could have led Choosing an Occupation When choosing an occupation, there are some things to consider: Try to have a picture in your mind about who and what your investigator is—your character concept. Look for occupations that suit this concept and add color to it. Remember, rolling up an investigator is all about building up a story of who you want to play in the game. Your characteristics, occupation, sex, and age all help to establish a fully-rounded, breathing investigator. Look through the skills associated with each occupation and see which of these you like the most. Certain skills are likely to appeal to you more. Perhaps you want your investigator to be a man or woman of action, leading you to choose an occupation with skills like Fighting, Climb, and Throw. Alternatively you might decide to create a more studious investigator, with skill in Library Use, Spot Hidden, and Psychology. Also, you might want to consider your investigator’s occupation and skill set in relation to the other players and what kind of investigators they will be playing. Creating a balance of occupations means that the group has a good mix of skills that will benefi t everyone. Depending on the style of game and scenario you will be playing, your Keeper might have certain occupations in mind for you to play; perhaps he or she mentioned this when they described the initial premise of the scenario. Discuss your ideas with the other players in order to build the most appropriate group of investigators for your game. After all, it will be somewhat strange for everyone to turn up with musicians when the scenario is set in the Antarctic! If the game is to be ongoing (a campaign), the investigators are going to need a reason to stay together (see Chapter 6: Investigator Organizations for more ideas). Remember, it’s not what your investigator can or can’t do—it’s how you decide to "play" your character that is really important, and that, above all, will often determine your enjoyment of the game! Choosing an Occupation