There was a formula—a sort of list of things to say and do—which I recognised as something black and forbidden; something which I had read of before in furtive paragraphs of mixed abhorrence and fascination penned by those strange ancient delvers into the universe’s guarded secrets whose decaying texts I loved to absorb. It was a key—a guide—to certain gateways and transitions of which mystics have dreamed and whispered since the race was young, and which lead to freedoms and discoveries beyond the three dimensions and realms of life and matter that we know. Not for centuries had any man recalled its vital substance or known where to find it, but this book was very old indeed. No printing-press, but the hand of some half-crazed monk, had traced these ominous Latin phrases in uncials of awesome antiquity.
I remember how the old man leered and tittered, and made a curious sign with his hand when I bore it away. He had refused to take pay for it, and only long afterward did I guess why. As I hurried home through those narrow, winding, mist-choked waterfont streets I had a frightful impression of being stealthily followed by softly padding feet. The centuried, tottering houses on both sides seemed alive with a fresh and morbid malignity—as if some hitherto closed channel of evil understanding had abruptly been opened. I felt that those walls and overhanging gables of mildewed brick and fungous plaster and timber—with fishy, eye-like, diamond-paned windows that leered—could hardly desist from advancing and crushing me . . . yet I had read only the least fragment of that blasphemous rune before closing the book and bringing it away.
I remember how I read the book at last—white-faced, and locked in the attic room that I had long devoted to strange searchings. The great house was very still, for I had not gone up till after midnight. I think I had a family then—though the details are very uncertain—and I know there were many servants. Just what the year was, I cannot say; for since then I have known many ages and dimensions, and have had all my notions of time dissolved and refashioned. It was by the light of candles that I read—I recall the relentless dripping of the wax—and there were chimes that came every now and then from distant belfries. I seemed to keep track of those chimes with a peculiar intentness, as if I feared to hear some very remote, intruding note among them.
Then came the first scratching and fumbling at the dormer window that looked out high above the other roofs of the city. It came as I droned aloud the ninth verse of that primal lay, and I knew amidst my shudders what it meant. For he who passes the gateways always wins a shadow, and never again can he be alone. I had evoked—and the book was indeed all I had suspected. That night I passed the gateway to a vortex of twisted time and vision, and when morning found me in the attic room I saw in the walls and shelves and fittings that which I had never seen before.
Nor could I ever after see the world as I had known it. Mixed with the present scene was always a little of the past and a little of the future, and every once-familiar object loomed alien in the new perspective brought by my widened sight. From then on I walked in a fantastic dream of unknown and half-known shapes; and with each new gateway crossed, the less plainly could I recognise the things of the narrow sphere to which I had so long been bound. What I saw about me none else saw; and I grew doubly silent and aloof lest I be thought mad. Dogs had a fear of me, for they felt the outside shadow which never left my side. But still I read more—in hidden, forgotten books and scrolls to which my new vision led me—and pushed through fresh gateways of space and being and life-patterns toward the core of the unknown cosmos.
I remember the night I made the five concentric circles of fire on the floor, and stood in the innermost one chanting that monstrous litany the messenger from Tartary had brought. The walls melted away, and I was swept by a black wind through gulfs of fathomless grey with the needle-like pinnacles of unknown mountains miles below me. After a while there was utter blackness, and then the light of myriad stars forming strange, alien constellations. Finally I saw a green-litten plain far below me, and discerned on it the twisted towers of a city built in no fashion I had ever known or read of or dreamed of. As I floated closer to that city I saw a great square building of stone in an open space, and felt a hideous fear clutching at me. I screamed and struggled, and after a blankness was again in my attic room, sprawled flat over the five phosphorescent circles on the floor. In that night’s wandering there was no more of strangeness than in many a former night’s wandering; but there was more of terror because I knew I was closer to those outside gulfs and worlds than I had ever been before. Thereafter I was more cautious with my incantations, for I had no wish to be cut off from my body and from the earth in unknown abysses whence I could never return.
ENDNOTES
INTRODUCTION
1 S. T. Joshi, Introduction to H. P. Lovecraft: The Fiction Complete and Unabridged (New York: Barnes & Noble, 2008), IX.
2 H. P. Lovecraft, Selected Letters, Vol. II, note 9. Quoted in S. T. Joshi, H. P. Lovecraft: A Life (West Warwick, RI: Necronomicon Press, 1996), 27.
3 Joshi, A Life, 654.
4 See Joshi, A Life, 152–53.
5 Joshi, A Life, 215.
6 On Schultz’s conception of an “anti-mythology” see “From Microcosm to Macrocosm: The Growth of Lovecraft’s Cosmic Vision” in S. T. Joshi’s An Epicure in the Terrible: A Centennial Anthology of Essays in Honor of H. P. Lovecraft (Rutherford [N.J.]: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1991). The quotation comes from Lovecraft’s The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories (Ed. S. T. Joshi. New York: Penguin Books, 1999), xvii.
7 H. P. Lovecraft, Supernatural Horror in Literature (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1973), 14.
THE TRANSITION OF JUAN ROMERO
1 Here is a lesson in scientific accuracy for fiction writers. I have just looked up the moon’s phases for October, 1894, to find when a gibbous moon was visible at 2 am, and have changed the dates to fit!!
2 Motto of “A Descent into the Maelstrom.”
3 Prescott, Conquest of Mexico.
SUGGESTED READING
BURLESON, DONALD R. Lovecraft: Disturbing the Universe. Lexington, KY: The University Press of Kentucky, 1990.
HOUELLEBECQ, MICHEL. H. P. Lovecraft: Against the World, Against Life. Translated by Dorna Khazeni. Introduction by Stephen King. San Francisco, CA: Believer Books, 2005.
JOSHI, S. T., H. P. Lovecraft: A Life. West Warwick, RI: Necronomicon Press, 1996.
JOSHI, S. T., ED. H. P. Lovecraft: Four Decades of Criticism. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1980.
LÉVY, MAURICE. Lovecraft: A Study in the Fantastic. Trans. S. T. Joshi. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1988.
SCHULTZ, DAVID E., AND S. T. JOSHI, EDS. An Epicure in the Terrible: A Centennial Anthology of Essays in Honor of H. P. Lovecraft. Rutherford, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1991.
SMITH, DON. G. H. P. Lovecraft in Popular Culture: The Works and Their Adaptations in Film, Television, Comics, Music and Games. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., 2006.
ST. ARMAND, BARTON L. H. P. Lovecraft: New England Decadence. Albuquerque: Silver Scarab Press, 1979.
H. P. Lovecraft, Other Gods and More Unearthly Tales
(Series: # )
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