A Visit to Arkham

What’s that, Martha? Visitors?

Well, by all means, woman, send them in.

Set a spell, fellas. Make yourselves at home; Martha and I were just gettin' ready for the shindig down in Innsmouth tonight.

Arkham? Ayuh, everyone ‘round these parts knows Arkham. Big city. Big trouble. At least, it ‘twas, until the last new moon.

What happened? Oh, boys, that’s a story longer’n my arm and twice as hairy. Sure you don’t want to jes’ rest your feet and have some lemonade?

No? I suppose you city slickers are always in summat of a hurry. I reckon that was part of the reason for’n the way things ended up.

‘Tall stahted with a fellah from the city, an investigator - I think they call themselves “private eyes” nowadays - He came snooping around the police station, asking strange questions. Weren’t too much later that a tahl dandy, used to be a magician, showed up near the Olde Magick Shoppe, asking a lot of the same questions. All these folks asking questions attracted the attention of our local journo, fellah from the Arkham Advertiser, nice young man. Can’t say as I recall his name. Anyways, that’s when the trouble started.

Ayuh, I said trouble. Wicked trouble, the kind that has crittahs pickin’ you up in slimy tentacles and throwing you down the road apiece. Odd stories came from the boys pulling in the pots down by dockside, ‘bout an island with strange lights and stranger rituals. Pretty soon, those three young men I mentioned came a’ pokin’ their noses ‘round, lookin’ to get to that island. Right after, a schooner came in all of its own, letting out all manner of trouble right onto the street that the magician was walking down. Everyone could tell that magician was in for a bad spell.

What’s that Martha? A pun? Ayuh, I reckon that was a pun. Finest kind.

Well, soon those boys were runnin’ all over Arkham, poppin’ in and out of glowin’ disks of light like rabbits down holes. Once or twice they came back lookin’ a might wild-eyed and haggard, like someone run ‘em through a ringer once or twice. Most of the time, they ended makin’ funny marks on the ground, and the disks never came back. Round then, the Egyptian exhibit came to town, which they seemed powerful interested in. All sorts of stories whirlin’ around town ‘round then, dark creatures in the streets, zombies, cultists, maniacs, and stranger things, things from the stars with wings. People in dark robes with forked tongues… they were the scariest, so I hear tell – at least the investigators seemed to avoid fightin’ ‘em.

The private eye, he was loaded for bear, as we say ‘round these parts. He took those crittahs to task, and brung a cartful of them in to the police to put in storage. They wanted to deputize him; he had earned it twice over, but for some reason, that never happened. The magician, well, he was a fragile sort. Kept on running into something in uptown, big and mean… think they said it was called a “dhole”. Anyways, that thing kept him holed up in St. Mary’s… the hospital… for quite a while. As for our hometown photographer, he disappeared for the longest time. When he showed up again, he kept on muttering about Elder Races, Cities and Cleaners or somesuch.

Sure you fellahs won’t have some lemonade? You will? That’s fine. Ah… there now, isn’t that refreshing? Ayuh, the wife makes it special… very tart.

It was a interestin’ time. We had a whole family murdered in their home, and for a while a mysterious Black Man was peddlin’ something over in Southside. We even had the Feds come in and clean a lot of those dark things off the streets, government-style. The three men panicked a little when it seemed like all their good work was going to be undone, but they figured it out, and got something in return. While they were worrying about not having all their work undone, a few more of ‘em glowing disks showed up, spewing all manner of crittahs all over Arkham. ‘Round bout then the General store closed up and the owner left town. Lot of fellahs left town. Somethin’ spooked ‘em wicked bad.

Well, with all those new glowing places and only four neighbourhoods that were safe, there was a reckoning. People ‘round these parts said it was quite a light show, pistols and spells and whips and shotguns ‘a blazin’. They say they came very close to banishing Yig; they did their best, poor misguided souls.

In the end, well… Arkham’s a different place these days. Never did see those poor boys again, ‘cept maybe in the new friezes they’re erecting over a ways by where they’re putting up Yig’s brand new Temple. They look powerful scairt, even carved in stone and clutched in Yig’s gentle talons. Ayuh, Yig’s a beneficent ruler, so long as yah stay on Yig’s good side; otherways, it’s off to the stone of sacrifice and, well, you’ll know more about that than I by the 'morrow. There's some as 'round here that weren't mighty happy to see Yig come to rule, but those of us who've always expected him, well, it's like the Fourth of July and Christmas and the Black Feast of Shub-Niggurath all rolled into one.

Oh, fellahs, yah look powerful uneasy. Don’t worry, Yig will take you under his feathered coils soon enough, and it’ll all be over. Ayuh, that cold feelin’ creepin’ over you is one of the finer paralytic poisons, courtesy of Martha’s lemonade and our lord Yig hisself. You fellahs probably won’t feel a thing.

Don’t worry. I think the good folk down at the Innsmouth shindig will take a shine to you right proper. They'll treat you fine, afore'n you go.

It’s going to be a wicked good party. Wicked good.