Robert Hart, night watchman at the North Burial Ground, this
morning discovered a party of several men with a motor truck in
the oldest part of the cemetery, but apparently frightened them off
before they had accomplished whatever their object may have been.
The discovery took place at about four o'clock, when Hart's
attention was attracted by the sound of a motor outside his
shelter. Investigating, he saw a large truck on the main drive
several rods away; but could not reach it before the sound of his
feet on the gravel had revealed his approach. The men hastily
placed a large box in the truck and drove away toward the street
before they could be overtaken; and since no known grave was
disturbed, Hart believes that this box was an object which they
wished to bury.
The diggers must have been at work for a long while before
detection, for Hart found an enormous hole dug at a considerable
distance back from the roadway in the lot of Amosa Field, where
most of the old stones have long ago disappeared. The hole, a place
as large and deep as a grave, was empty; and did not coincide with
any interment mentioned in the cemetery records.
Sergeant Riley of the Second Station viewed the spot and gave the
opinion that the hole was dug by bootleggers rather gruesomely and
ingeniously seeking a safe cache for liquor in a place not likely
to be disturbed. In reply to questions Hart said he thought the
escaping truck had headed up Rochambeau Avenue, though he could not
be sure.
During the next few days Charles Ward was seldom seen by his family.
Having added sleeping quarters to his attic realm, he kept closely to
himself there, ordering food brought to the door and not taking it
in until after the servant had gone away. The droning of monotonous
formulae and the chanting of bizarre rhythms recurred at intervals,
while at other times occasional listeners could detect the sound of
tinkling glass, hissing chemicals, running water, or roaring gas
flames. Odors of the most unplaceable quality, wholly unlike any before
noted, hung at times around the door; and the air of tension observable
in the young recluse whenever he did venture briefly forth was such as
to excite the keenest speculation. Once he made a hasty trip to the
Athenaeum for a book he required, and again he hired a messenger to
fetch him a highly obscure volume from Boston. Suspense was written
portentously over the whole situation, and both the family and Dr.
Willett confessed themselves wholly at a loss what to do or think about
it.
* * * * *
Then on the fifteenth of April a strange development occurred. While
nothing appeared to grow different in kind, there was certainly a very
terrible difference in degree; and Dr. Willett somehow attaches great
significance to the change. The day was Good Friday, a circumstance of
which the servants made much, but which others quite naturally dismiss
as an irrelevant coincidence. Late in the afternoon young Ward began
repeating a certain formula in a singularly loud voice, at the same
time burning some substance so pungent that its fumes escaped over the
entire house. The formula was so plainly audible in the hall outside
the locked door that Mrs. Ward could not help memorizing it as she
waited and listened anxiously, and later on she was able to write it
down at Dr. Willett's request. It ran as follows, and experts have told
Dr. Willett that its very close analogue can be found in the mystic
writings of "Eliphas Levi," that cryptic soul who crept through a crack
in the forbidden door and glimpsed the frightful vistas of the void
beyond:
Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Jehova, Adonai Sabaoth, Metraton Ou
Agla Methon, verbum pythonicum, mysterium salamandrae, conventus
sylvorum, antra, gnomorum, daemonia Coeli God, Almonsin, Gibor,
Jehosua, Evam, Zariatnatmik, veni, veni, veni.
This had been going on for two hours without change or intermission
when over all the neighborhood a pandemoniac howling of dogs set in.
The extent of this howling can be judged from the space it received
in the papers the next day, but to those in the Ward household it was
over-shadowed by the odor which instantly followed it; a hideous,
all-pervasive odour which none of them had ever smelt before or have
ever smelt since. In the midst of this mephitic flood there came a
very perceptible flash like that of lightning, which would have been
blinding and impressive but for the daylight around; and then was heard
_the voice_ that no listener can ever forget because of its thunderous
remoteness, its incredible depth, and its eldritch dissimilarity to
Charles Ward's voice. It shook the house, and was clearly heard by at
least two neighbors above the howling of the dogs. Mrs. Ward, who had
been listening in despair outside her son's locked laboratory, shivered
as she recognized its hellish import; for Charles had told her of its
evil fame in dark books, and of the manner in which it had thundered,
according to the Fenner letters, above the doomed Pawtuxet farmhouse on
the night of Joseph Curwen's annihilation. There was no mistaking that
nightmare phrase, for Charles had described it too vividly in the old
days when he had talked frankly of his Curwen investigations. And yet
it was only this fragment of an archaic and forgotten language: "DIES
MIES JESCHET BOENE DOESEF DOUVEMA ENITEMAUS."
Close upon this thundering there came a momentary darkening
of the daylight, though sunset was still an hour distant,
and then a puff of added odor, different from the first but
equally unknown and intolerable. Charles was chanting again
now and his mother could hear syllables that sounded like
"Yi-ngah-Yog-Sothoth-he-lglb-fi-throdag"--ending in a "Yah!" whose
maniacal force mounted in an ear-splitting crescendo. A second later
all previous memories were effaced by the wailing scream which burst
out with frantic explosiveness and gradually changed form to a paroxysm
of diabolic and hysterical laughter. Mrs. Ward, with the mingled fear
and blind courage of maternity, advanced and knocked affrightedly
at the concealing panels, but obtained no sign of recognition. She
knocked again, but paused nervelessly as a second shriek arose, this
one unmistakably in the familiar voice of her son, and _sounding
concurrently with the still bursting cachinnations of that other
voice_. Presently she fainted, although she is still unable to recall
the precise and immediate cause. Memory sometimes makes merciful
deletions.
* * * * *
Mr. Ward returned from the business section at about quarter past
six; and not finding his wife downstairs, was told by the frightened
servants that she was probably watching at Charles' door, from which
the sounds had been far stranger than ever before. Mounting the stairs
at once, he saw Mrs. Ward stretched at full length on the floor of the
corridor outside the laboratory; and realizing that she had fainted,
hastened to fetch a glass of water from a set bowl in a neighboring
alcove. Dashing the cold fluid in her face, he was heartened to observe
an immediate response on her part, and was watching the bewildered
opening of her eyes when a chill shot through him and threatened to
reduce him to the very state from which she was emerging. For the
seemingly silent laboratory was not as silent as it had appeared to be,
but held the murmurs of a tense, muffled conversation in tones too low
for comprehension, yet of a quality profoundly disturbing to the soul.
It was not, of course, new for Charles to mutter formulae; but this
muttering was definitely different. It was so palpably a dialogue, or
imitation of a dialogue, with the regular alternation of inflections
suggesting question and answer, statement and response. One voice
was undisguisedly that of Charles, but the other had a depth and
hollowness which the youth's best powers of ceremonial mimicry had
scarcely approached before. There was something hideous, blasphemous,
and abnormal about it, and but for a cry from his recovering wife
which cleared his mind by arousing his protective instincts, it is not
likely that Theodore Howland Ward could have maintained for nearly
a year more his old boast that he had never fainted. As it was, he
seized his wife in his arms and bore her quickly downstairs before
she could notice the voices which had so horribly disturbed him. Even
so, however, he was not quick enough to escape catching something
himself which caused him to stagger dangerously with his burden. For
Mrs. Ward's cry had evidently been heard by others than he and there
had come in response to it from behind the locked door the first
distinguishable words which that hushed and terrible colloquy had
yielded. They were merely an excited caution in Charles' own voice, but
somehow their implications held a nameless fright for the father who
overheard them. The phrase was just this: "_Sshh!--write!_"
Mr. and Mrs. Ward conferred at some length after dinner, and the former
resolved to have a firm and serious talk with Charles that very night.
No matter how important the object, such conduct could no longer be
permitted; for these latest developments transcended every limit of
sanity and formed a menace to the order and nervous well-being of the
entire household. The youth must indeed have taken complete leave of
his senses, since only downright madness could have prompted the wild
screams and imaginary conversations in assumed voices which the present
day had brought forth. All this must be stopped, or Mrs. Ward would be
made ill and the keeping of servants become an impossibility.
* * * * *
Mr. Ward rose at the close of the meal and started upstairs for
Charles' laboratory. On the third floor, however, he paused at the
sounds which he heard proceeding from the now disused library of his
son. Books were apparently being flung about and papers wildly rustled,
and upon stepping to the door Mr. Ward beheld the youth within,
excitedly assembling a vast armful of literary matter of every size
and shape. Charles' aspect was very drawn and haggard, and he dropped
his entire load with a start at the sound of his father's voice. At
the elder man's command he sat down, and for some time listened to the
admonitions he had so long deserved. There was no scene. At the end of
the lecture he agreed that his father was right, and that his noises,
mutterings, incantations, and chemical odors were indeed inexcusable
nuisances. For the fright and fainting of his mother he expressed the
keenest contrition, and explained that the conversation later heard
was part of an elaborate symbolism designed to create a certain mental
atmosphere. His use of abstruse chemical terms somewhat bewildered
Mr. Ward, but the parting impression was one of undeniable sanity and
poise, despite a mysterious tension of the utmost gravity. Mr. Ward
hardly knew what to make of the entire business. It was as mysterious
as the death of poor old Nig, whose stiffening form had been found an
hour before in the basement, with staring eyes and fear-distorted mouth.
Driven by some vague detective instinct, the bewildered parent now
glanced curiously at the vacant shelves to see what his son had
taken up to the attic. The youth's library was plainly and rigidly
classified, so that one might tell at a glance the books or at least
the kind of books which had been withdrawn. On this occasion Mr. Ward
was astonished to find that nothing of the occult or the antiquarian,
beyond what had been previously removed, was missing. These new
withdrawals were all modern items; histories, scientific treatises,
geographies, manuals of literature, philosophic works, and certain
contemporary newspapers and magazines. It was a very curious shift
from Charles Ward's recent run of reading, and the father paused in a
growing vortex of perplexity and an engulfing sense of strangeness. The
strangeness was a very poignant sensation, and almost clawed at his
chest as he strove to see just what was wrong around him. Something was
indeed wrong, and tangibly as well as spiritually so.
On the north wall rose still the ancient carved overmantel from the
house in Olney Court, but to the cracked and precariously restored
oils of the large Curwen portrait disaster had come. Time and unequal
heating had done their work at last, and at some time since the room's
last cleaning the worst had happened. Peeling clear of the wood,
curling tighter and tighter, and finally crumbling into small bits with
what must have been malignly silent suddenness, the portrait of Joseph
Curwen had resigned for ever its staring surveillance of the youth it
so strangely resembled, and now lay scattered on the floor as a thin
coating of fine bluish-gray dust.
_4. A Mutation and a Madness_
In the week following that memorable Good Friday, Charles Ward was seen
more often than usual, and was continually carrying books between his
library and the attic laboratory. His actions were quiet and rational,
but he had a furtive, hunted look which his mother did not like, and
developed an incredibly ravenous appetite as gauged by his demands upon
the cook.
Dr. Willett had been told of those Friday noises and happenings, and
on the following Tuesday had a long conversation with the youth in the
library where the picture stared no more. The interview was, as always,
inconclusive; but Willett is still ready to swear that the youth
was sane and himself at the time. He held out promises of an early
revelation, and spoke of the need of securing a laboratory elsewhere.
At the loss of the portrait he grieved singularly little considering
his first enthusiasm over it, but seemed to find something of positive
humor in its sudden crumbling.
About the second week Charles began to be absent from the house for
long periods, and one day when good old black Hannah came to help with
the spring cleaning she mentioned his frequent visits to the old house
in Olney Court, where he would come with a large valise and perform
curious delvings in the cellar. He was always very liberal to her and
to old Asa, but seemed more worried than he used to be; which grieved
her very much, since she had watched him grow up from birth.
Another report of his doings came from Pawtuxet, where some friends
of the family saw him at a distance a surprising number of times. He
seemed to haunt the resort and canoe-house of Rhodes-on-the-Pawtuxet,
and subsequent inquiries by Dr. Willett at that place brought out
the fact that his purpose was always to secure access to the rather
hedged-in river-bank, along which he would walk toward the north,
usually not reappearing for a very long while.
Later in May came a momentary revival of ritualistic sounds in the
attic laboratory which brought a stern reproof from Mr. Ward and a
somewhat distracted promise of amendment from Charles. It occurred one
morning, and seemed to form a resumption of the imaginary conversation
noted on that turbulent Good Friday. The youth was arguing or
remonstrating hotly with himself, for there suddenly burst forth a
perfectly distinguishable series of clashing shouts in differentiated
tones like alternate demands and denials, which caused Mrs. Ward to run
upstairs and listen at the door. She could hear no more than a fragment
whose only plain words were "must have it red for three months," and
upon her knocking all sounds ceased at once. When Charles was later
questioned by his father he said that there were certain conflicts of
spheres of consciousness which only great skill could avoid, but which
he would try to transfer to other realms.
About the middle of June a queer nocturnal incident occurred. In the
early evening there had been some noise and thumping in the laboratory
upstairs, and Mr. Ward was on the point of investigating when it
suddenly quieted down. That midnight, after the family had retired, the
butler was nightlocking the front door when according to his statement
Charles appeared somewhat blunderingly and uncertainly at the foot of
the stairs with a large suitcase and made signs that he wished egress.
The youth spoke no word, but the worthy Yorkshireman caught one sight
of his fevered eyes and trembled causelessly. He opened the door and
young Ward went out, but in the morning he presented his resignation to
Mrs. Ward. There was, he said, something unholy in the glance Charles
had fixed on him. It was no way for a young gentleman to look at an
honest person, and he could not possibly stay another night. Mrs. Ward
allowed the man to depart, but she did not value his statement highly.
To fancy Charles in a savage state that night was quite ridiculous, for
as long as she had remained awake she had heard faint sounds from the
laboratory above; sounds as if of sobbing and pacing, and of a sighing
which told only of despair's profoundest depths. Mrs. Ward had grown
used to listening for sounds in the night, for the mystery of her son
was fast driving all else from her mind.
The next evening, much as on another evening nearly three months
before, Charles Ward seized the newspaper very early and accidentally
lost the main section. This matter was not recalled till later,
when Dr. Willett began checking up loose ends and searching out
missing links here and there. In the _Journal_ office he found the
section which Charles had lost, and marked two items as of possible
significance. They were as follows: