Lovecraft and James Investigate - Chapter 6 - Part 1

NaNoWriMo 2006 novel. Writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Quality may suffer.

Chapter 6 ' A Hole In The Ground

Lovecraft called early and they took the train to Boston, and then a bus to Salem where they arrived in the early afternoon and found a small lodging house near the seafront. They ordered some sandwiches and a couple of bottles of beer in their room and sat looking out over the sparkling sea which was dotted with the white triangles of sailing yachts. Seagulls called to each other across the water and Montague looked out at the horizon, imagining whales breaching the surface, and, somewhere in the distance, the green shores of Britain rising above the waves. A nagging doubt still sat at the back of his mind, thoughts of things under the waves, the strange abhorrent designs on the tiara, and the still unsolved crime of who, or what, killed Frank Pabodie and made those marks on the hull of the Jeraboam. The opaque and unfathomed sea might shimmer and glint beguilingly on the surface but it still hid its mysteries well.

A look of distaste crossed Lovecraft's face.

'Is everything alright?' asked James.

'I can't abide the stench of fish,' said Lovecraft, 'I just caught a waft from the docks.'

'You live in the wrong part of the country then.'

'I do.'

Montague took a sip from his beer. 'I think we have arrived a bit too late to go bothering the historical society without so much as a letter of introduction. What can we do about your matter, this fellow Warren?'

'Harley Warren. I have his last communication to me here.' Lovecraft took from his jacket pocket a folded envelope and handed it to Montague who pulled out a well thumbed letter. It was short so he read it right then.

My Dear Howard,

H.W.

Montague folded the letter back into the envelope and handed it back to Lovecraft. 'I take it,' he said, 'that he did not return.'

'He did not.'

'And this ancient graveyard?'

'I found it about four miles north of here on the salt flats, there was a small settlement there abandoned in the early seventeen hundreds, the church is long gone, having been built of wood, but the gravestones tell where it was. There was evidence of activity, a brand new spade and a pick lying propped up against one of the stones next to a rucksack I knew to be Warren's. Nearby an area of ground had been cleared exposing three granite slabs, one of which had been pried loose and moved far enough to expose a black aperture wide enough to allow a man egress. A stench rose from it, it was terrible, a horrific miasmal gas, I cannot describe it.'

'Old tombs often do smell bad.'

'Oh it was worse than any crypt, it was nauseous, and there was something wrong about that smell, something I cannot put my finger on, something not natural. I had a lantern which I lit and shone down the hole but all I saw were stone steps descending into the darkness, I saw no trace of my friend, then ...'

Lovecraft looked out of the window, staring out to sea.

'Then,' he said slowly, 'I heard a noise.'

'What kind of noise?'

'A hideous chattering.'

'Probably just rats.'

'No, Mister James, it was not rats.' He turned back. 'Anyway I confess at that point I panicked and, with strength I never knew I had, I pulled the stone back into place and ran from that place. I have to go back though, I need to find out what happened to my friend, but I have been too terrified to do so alone. These last two months I have been in agony trying to summon up the courage.'

'Did you burn his papers like he asked?'

'I was beaten to it. I would not have done it. I took his warnings seriously but I believe he underestimated me, besides there is no way my own curiosity would have allowed me to do it. It is recorded as accidental but I talked to his housekeeper and I know what happened. After he had been gone for two days she and the gardener forced their way into his study to make sure he had not died unnoticed in there, some of his notes were open on the desk, apparently the sight of them so shook her that she dropped the oil lamp she was carrying and it burst starting a fire that incinerated the dry paper in moments. I think it is more likely that she set light to them deliberately, I had seen them, some of them had illustrations that would be abhorrent to any right thinking person, the poorly educated folk of this country are not renowned for their rational response to anything that smacks of the occult. Burning it would have been traditional.' The young man smiled ruefully.

'And this book you spoke of, the one with the script like my papers, that was destroyed too?'

'I do not know, from conversations I had with Warren I suspect he had it on his person when he descended into that hole.'

'Then we must go and fetch it.'

'I do not think you know what you are suggesting Mister James.'

'I have ventured into a few crypts in my time,' said Montague, 'it is four miles from here you say, we should go now and get the thing done before dark. Is there somewhere we can buy lanterns?'

'Tonight?'

'Yes tonight. The days are long this time of year and it is never wise to sleep on a task like this if you can avoid it. We will need lanterns and maybe a length of rope, if it is a full potholing operation we can go back with the proper equipment tomorrow. Four miles you say, what is it, an hours walk?'

'About that yes.'

'Well then, finish your sandwich man and lets be on our way.'