lived for barely six months, all the while raving about a creature named Atlach-Nacha—a spider-god from the Cthulhu Cycle of myth—whose ghostly avatar, he claimed, still inhabited the house and its grounds.”
At this Turnbull spoke up. “Now really!” he spluttered. “I honestly fear that we’re rapidly going from the sublime to the ridiculous!”
“Gentlemen, please!” There was exasperation now in Lord Marriot’s voice. “What does it matter? You know as much now as there is to know of the history of the troubles here—more than enough to do what you’ve been paid to do. Now then, Lawrence—” he turned to Danford. “Have you any objections?”
“ Harumph! Well, if there’s a demon here—that is, some thing other than a creature of the Lord—then of course I’ll do my best to help you. Harumph! Certainly.”
“And you, Lavery?”
“Objections? No, a bargain is a bargain. I have your money, and you shall have your noises.”
Lord Marriot nodded, understanding Lavery’s meaning. For the medium’s talent was a supposed or alleged ability to speak in the tongue of the ghost, the possessing spirit. In the event of a non-human ghost, however, then his mouthings might well be other than speech as we understand the spoken word. They might simply be—noises.
“And that leaves you, Turnbull.”
“Do not concern yourself, Lord Marriot,” Turnbull answered, flicking imagined dust from his sleeves. “I, too, would be loath to break an honourable agreement. I have promised to do an automatic sketch of the intruder, an art in which I’m well practised, and if all goes well, I shall do just that. Frankly, I see nothing at all to be afraid of. Indeed, I would appreciate some sort of explanation from our friend here—who seems to me simply to be doing his best to frighten us off.” He inclined his head inquiringly in my direction.
I held up my hands and shook my head. “Gentlemen, my only desire is to make you aware of this feeling of mine of…yes, premonition! The very air seems to me imbued with an aura of—” I frowned. “Perhaps disaster would be too strong a word.”
“Disaster?” Old Danford, as was his wont, repeated after me. “How do you mean?”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s a feeling, that’s all, and it hinges upon this desire of Lord Marriot’s to know his foe, to identify the nature of the evil here. Yes, upon that, and upon the complicity of the rest of you.”
“But—” the young Lord began, anger starting to make itself apparent in his voice.
“At least hear me out,” I protested. “Then—” I paused and shrugged. “Then…you must do as you see fit.”
“It can do no harm to listen to him,” Old Danford pleaded my case. “I for one find all of this extremely interesting. I would like to hear his argument.” The others nodded slowly, one by one, in somewhat uncertain agreement.
“Very well,” Lord Marriot sighed heavily. “Just what is it that bothers you so much, my friend?”
“Recognition,” I answered at once. “To recognize our—opponent?—that’s where the danger lies. And yet here’s Lavery, all willing and eager to speak in the thing’s voice, which can only add to our knowledge of it; and Turnbull, happy to fall into a trance at the drop of a hat and sketch the thing, so that we may all know exactly what it looks like. And what comes after that? Don’t you see? The more we learn of it, the more it learns of us!
“Right now, this thing —ghost, demon, ‘god’, apparition, whatever you want to call it—lies in some deathless limbo, extra-dimensional, manifesting itself rarely, incompletely, in our world. But to know the thing, as our lunatic anthropologist came to know it and as the superstitious villagers of these parts think they know it—that is to draw it from its own benighted place into this sphere of existence. That is to give it substance, to participate in its materialization!”
“Hah!” Turnbull snorted.
At this Turnbull spoke up. “Now really!” he spluttered. “I honestly fear that we’re rapidly going from the sublime to the ridiculous!”
“Gentlemen, please!” There was exasperation now in Lord Marriot’s voice. “What does it matter? You know as much now as there is to know of the history of the troubles here—more than enough to do what you’ve been paid to do. Now then, Lawrence—” he turned to Danford. “Have you any objections?”
“ Harumph! Well, if there’s a demon here—that is, some thing other than a creature of the Lord—then of course I’ll do my best to help you. Harumph! Certainly.”
“And you, Lavery?”
“Objections? No, a bargain is a bargain. I have your money, and you shall have your noises.”
Lord Marriot nodded, understanding Lavery’s meaning. For the medium’s talent was a supposed or alleged ability to speak in the tongue of the ghost, the possessing spirit. In the event of a non-human ghost, however, then his mouthings might well be other than speech as we understand the spoken word. They might simply be—noises.
“And that leaves you, Turnbull.”
“Do not concern yourself, Lord Marriot,” Turnbull answered, flicking imagined dust from his sleeves. “I, too, would be loath to break an honourable agreement. I have promised to do an automatic sketch of the intruder, an art in which I’m well practised, and if all goes well, I shall do just that. Frankly, I see nothing at all to be afraid of. Indeed, I would appreciate some sort of explanation from our friend here—who seems to me simply to be doing his best to frighten us off.” He inclined his head inquiringly in my direction.
I held up my hands and shook my head. “Gentlemen, my only desire is to make you aware of this feeling of mine of…yes, premonition! The very air seems to me imbued with an aura of—” I frowned. “Perhaps disaster would be too strong a word.”
“Disaster?” Old Danford, as was his wont, repeated after me. “How do you mean?”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s a feeling, that’s all, and it hinges upon this desire of Lord Marriot’s to know his foe, to identify the nature of the evil here. Yes, upon that, and upon the complicity of the rest of you.”
“But—” the young Lord began, anger starting to make itself apparent in his voice.
“At least hear me out,” I protested. “Then—” I paused and shrugged. “Then…you must do as you see fit.”
“It can do no harm to listen to him,” Old Danford pleaded my case. “I for one find all of this extremely interesting. I would like to hear his argument.” The others nodded slowly, one by one, in somewhat uncertain agreement.
“Very well,” Lord Marriot sighed heavily. “Just what is it that bothers you so much, my friend?”
“Recognition,” I answered at once. “To recognize our—opponent?—that’s where the danger lies. And yet here’s Lavery, all willing and eager to speak in the thing’s voice, which can only add to our knowledge of it; and Turnbull, happy to fall into a trance at the drop of a hat and sketch the thing, so that we may all know exactly what it looks like. And what comes after that? Don’t you see? The more we learn of it, the more it learns of us!
“Right now, this thing —ghost, demon, ‘god’, apparition, whatever you want to call it—lies in some deathless limbo, extra-dimensional, manifesting itself rarely, incompletely, in our world. But to know the thing, as our lunatic anthropologist came to know it and as the superstitious villagers of these parts think they know it—that is to draw it from its own benighted place into this sphere of existence. That is to give it substance, to participate in its materialization!”
“Hah!” Turnbull snorted.
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