They Are Here!

Existence of OAMP confirmed
Dark Séance on Arkham Battlements
Eyewitness Account

“Curwen Street 66/X, Feb. 13” – so pointed the notes of the late professor Downbarrow and so, dear readers, I went, out of an obligation as a journalist, yet I was indeed curious myself as to whether there is any merit to this supposed cult and its coming to Arkham, or whether all of it were just a figment of the imagination of an aging scholar and hence a wild goose chase.

It was a cold winter’s day, and it being Saturday, the street was largely deserted much of the time. Since no exact time was indicated in professor’s notes, I arrived to the designated address early morn and was looking at spending the whole day in wait for something, or nothing. Curiously enough, Curwen Street 66/X is the address of the so-called “Bronze House”, a large mansion, the moniker of which relates to the color of bricks it was built from.

What gives the house a rather peculiar reputation is that there are neither records nor recollections as to who built it, as well as to who were its occupants. The house is abandoned now, and as far as the folk can tell, it has always been thus. Some even say it predates Arkham as such. Stranger still, something about it keeps away not only curious trespassers and thrill seekers, but also public officials, as there is no indication that the Arkham Housing Commission intends to appropriate the derelict mansion, or pull it down to make room for a new edifice. If there is to be a gathering of a secret cult, the place would certainly fit.

And yet, as I kept my solitary watch, there seemed to be no indication that something is going to happen around the mansion, so much so that I gradually began to doubt my being there. Then, as fortune would have it, around 4pm, I suddenly heard a distant sound of a horn, or rather felt, for it was more a deep vibration than an audible tone. I sprang into action, with my camera in hand, and followed, thinking this may not be for naught after all. I approached the Bronze House and entered an outer courtyard that is accessible from the street. And that is where I saw them – a group of four, clustered at a far corner.

One of them held something, probably the horn I heard earlier. They moved around the courtyard while and then headed for the exit to the street. I withdrew a bit and observed them further.

They made a turn to the Marsh Street, heading towards the Arkham Sanitarium. Periodically they would stop, as if to observe their surroundings, were it not for the horn – yes, now I could see that it is indeed a horn of some kind – that one of them blew every occasionally, I would soon think that I was following a group of innocent tourists. They passed to Derby Street and kept walking towards the city outskirt. The sky began to darken, and I did my best to look inconspicuous, which was no small feat, given the streets were largely deserted.

After several more stops, they arrived, with me in tow, to the northern remnant of Arkham battlements, relics from the city’s Colonial past. This one overlooks the Dark Ravine, and when the weather is good, you can even spot the Old White Stone, which is at the center of so many weird tales and hushed rumors. Our destination turned out to be the battlement itself. Upon arrival, one of the group began setting up by the eastern wall what appears to be a makeshift altar, while the rest surveyed the scene. Since there was no one else on the battlement but them and me, I was sure I must be noticed any moment, but if they were aware of my presence, they did not seem to care.

Once the altar was finished, all of them gathered at the overlook. The horn began to sound again, yet this time at length and with a greater intensity. The vibrations were coming like tidal waves, whereby I began to feel disoriented and lost my footing. When I regained my balance, I looked back at the group, and…the familiar New England landscape was gone, replaced by something I cannot really describe…some nethermost Cosmic depth…and all the while the pulsing kept going.

And it was against this surreal backdrop that some strange ritual took place. The last thing I recall was wanting to take a photograph of the altar, but then darkness engulfed me.

I was awoken by a policeman on a night patrol. I was still on the battlement, it was well past midnight and all traces of what previously went on there were gone. I must admit I was unsure whether what I were a witness to at all happened, or rather was some feverish dream, whereupon the next day I anxiously awaited the photographs from my camera. What I saw on those, and what you, dear readers will now see too, was even more surreal than what I recall, as if the camera saw more than I was able. I could swear that there are even some photographs I do not remember taking.

I also cannot shake the feeling that what professor Downbarrow foresaw, came to pass, and that the cornerstone of the “Eternal Monument to Manta Primordialis and Her Cosmic Song” was laid. RJG