Collected Fiction Volume 2 (1926-1930): A Variorum Edition (11 page)

It was a colossal and nameless blasphemy with glaring red eyes, and it held in bony claws a thing that had been a man, gnawing at the head as a child nibbles at a stick of candy. Its position was a kind of crouch, and as one looked one felt that at any moment it might drop its present prey and seek a juicier morsel. But
^[95]
damn it all, it wasn’t even the fiendish subject that made it such an immortal fountain-head of all panic—not that, nor the dog face with its pointed ears, bloodshot eyes, flat nose, and drooling lips. It wasn’t the scaly claws nor the mould-caked
^[96]
body nor the half-hooved feet—none of these, though any one of them might well have driven an excitable man to madness.

It was the technique, Eliot—the cursed, the impious, the unnatural technique! As I am a living being, I never elsewhere saw the actual breath of life so fused into a canvas. The monster was there—it glared and gnawed and gnawed and glared—and I knew that only a suspension of Nature’s
^[97]
laws could ever let a man paint a thing like that without a model—without some glimpse of the nether world which no mortal unsold to the fiend
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has ever had.

Pinned with a thumb-tack to a vacant part of the canvas was a piece of paper,
^[99]
now badly curled up—probably, I thought, a photograph from which Pickman meant to paint a background as hideous as the nightmare it was to enhance. I reached out to uncurl and look at it, when suddenly I saw Pickman start as if shot. He had been listening with peculiar intensity ever since my shocked scream had waked unaccustomed echoes in the dark cellar, and now he seemed struck with a fright which, though not comparable to my own, had in it more of the physical than of the spiritual. He drew a revolver and motioned me to silence, then stepped out into the main cellar and closed the door behind him.

I think I was paralysed
^[100]
for an instant. Imitating Pickman’s listening, I fancied I heard a faint scurrying sound somewhere, and a series of squeals or bleats
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in a direction I couldn’t determine. I thought of huge rats and shuddered. Then there came a subdued sort of clatter which somehow set me all in gooseflesh
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—a furtive, groping kind of clatter, though I can’t attempt to convey what I mean in words. It was like heavy wood falling on stone or brick—wood on brick—what did that make me think of?

It came again, and louder. There was a vibration as if the wood had fallen farther than it had fallen before.
^[103]
After that followed a sharp grating noise, a shouted gibberish from Pickman, and the deafening discharge of all six chambers of a revolver, fired spectacularly as a lion-tamer might fire in the air for effect. A muffled squeal or squawk, and a thud. Then more wood and brick grating, a pause, and the opening of the door—at which I’ll confess I started violently. Pickman reappeared with his smoking weapon, cursing the bloated rats that infested the ancient well.

“The deuce knows what they eat, Thurber,” he grinned, “for those archaic tunnels touched graveyard and witch-den and seacoast.
^[104]
But whatever it is, they must have run short, for they were devilish anxious to get out. Your yelling stirred them up, I fancy. Better be cautious in these old places—our rodent friends are the one drawback, though I sometimes think they’re a positive asset by way of atmosphere and colour.”
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Well, Eliot, that was the end of the night’s adventure. Pickman had promised to shew
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me the place, and heaven
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knows he had done it. He led me out of that tangle of alleys in another direction, it seems, for when we sighted a lamp post
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we were in a half-familiar street with monotonous rows of mingled tenement blocks and old houses. Charter Street, it turned out to be, but I was too flustered to notice just where we hit it. We were too late for the elevated, and walked back downtown through Hanover Street. I remember that walk. We switched from Tremont up Beacon, and Pickman left me at the corner of Joy, where I turned off. I never spoke to him again.

Why did I drop him? Don’t be impatient. Wait till I ring for coffee. We’ve had enough of the other stuff, but I for one need something. No—it wasn’t the paintings I saw in that place; though I’ll swear they were enough to get him ostracised
^[109]
in nine-tenths of the homes and clubs of Boston, and I guess you won’t wonder now why I have to steer clear of subways and cellars. It was—something I found in my coat the next morning. You know, the curled-up paper tacked to that frightful canvas in the cellar; the thing I thought was a photograph of some scene he meant to use as a background for that monster. That last scare had come while I was reaching to uncurl it, and it seems I had vacantly crumpled it into my pocket. But here’s the coffee—take it black, Eliot, if you’re wise.

Yes, that paper was the reason I dropped Pickman; Richard Upton Pickman, the greatest artist I have
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ever known—and the foulest being that ever leaped the bounds of life into the pits of myth and madness. Eliot,
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old Reid was right. He wasn’t strictly human. Either he was born in strange shadow, or he’d found a way to unlock the forbidden gate. It’s all the same now, for he’s gone—back into the fabulous darkness he loved to haunt. Here, let’s have the chandelier going.

Don’t ask me to explain or even conjecture about what I burned. Don’t ask me, either, what lay behind that mole-like scrambling Pickman was so keen to pass off as rats. There are secrets, you know, which might have come down from old Salem times, and Cotton Mather tells even stranger things. You know how damned lifelike
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Pickman’s paintings were—how we all wondered where he got those faces.

Well—that paper wasn’t a photograph of any background, after all. What it shewed
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was simply the monstrous being he was painting on that awful canvas. It was the model he was using—and its background was merely the wall of the cellar studio in minute detail. But by God,
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Eliot,
it was a photograph from life.

1
. Editor’s Note:
HPL’s original A.Ms. turned up some time ago; it is held by private hands. It is of interest in recording a passage toward the end that was excised. (HPL curiously suggests that he had destroyed this A.Ms. [
OFF
85].) The T.Ms. was prepared by HPL. It was followed by
Weird Tales
(October 1927), with the usual editorial alterations; the Arkham House editions also follow the T.Ms., with some alterations. One revision—the alteration of “Marlborough Street” to “Newbury Street,” occurring three times in the text—appears in the T.Ms. in pencil, but not in HPL’s hand; the handwriting may be Barlow’s. This revision, along with several others, appears in the
Weird Tales
reprint (November 1936), meaning that HPL provided a revised text for the reprint (probably a tearsheet of the original appearance with revisions in pen). Other variants in the reprint are, however, probably editorial.

Texts: A = A.Ms. (private hands); B = T.Ms. (JHL); C =
Weird Tales
10, No. 4 (October 1927): 505–14; D =
Weird Tales
28, No. 4 (November 1936): 495–505; E =
The Dunwich Horror and Others
(Arkham House, 1963), 19–32. Copy-text: B (with some readings from D).

2
. Bosworth] Rosworth E

3
. honour] honor C, D

4
. shewed] showed B, C, D, E

5
. “Ghoul Feeding”.]
Ghoul Feeding.
C, D; “Ghoul Feeding.” D, E

6
. Nature] nature C, D

7
. Witches’ Sabbath]
Witches’ Sabbath
D

8
. colour] color C, D

9
. heaven] Heaven A, B, E

10
. Nature] nature C, D

11
. mediaeval] medieval C, D

12
. chimaeras] chimeras C, D

13
. “Ghoul Feeding”]
Ghoul Feeding
C, D

14
. shewed] showed B, C, D, E

15
. about;] about, D

16
. shew] show B, C, D, E

17
. Newbury] Marlborough A, B, C [
altered in B in pencil, but not in HPL’s handwriting
]

18
. organised] organized C, D

19
. live] love D

20
. aesthete] esthete C, D

21
. realise] realize C, D

22
. shew] show A, B, C, D, E

23
. shew . . . shew] show . . . show A, B, C, D, E

24
. ‘Magnalia’]
Magnalia
A, B, C, D, E

25
. ‘Wonders . . . World’.]
Wonders . . . World.
A, B, C, D, E

26
. burying-ground,] burying ground, A, B, C, E

27
. since,] since A, B, C, E

28
. shew] show B, C, D, E

29
. times!] time! E

30
. tea-table!] teatable! E

31
. guide-books] guidebooks A, B, C, E

32
. escape] escapes A, B, C, E

33
. Or] Or, D

34
. Newbury] Marlborough A, B, C [
altered in B as above
]

35
. twelve] 12 C

36
. all;] all: E

37
. ten-panelled] ten-paneled C, D

38
. panelling] paneling C, D

39
. Phipps] Phips C, D

40
. witchcraft.] Witchcraft. A, B, C, E

41
. “hard-boiled”,] “hard-boiled,” C, D, E

42
. shew] show B, C, D, E

43
. Newbury] Marlborough A, B, C [
altered in B as above
]

44
. go”.] go.” A, B, C, D, E

45
. horror] horror, A, B, C, E

46
. foetor] fetor C, D

47
. panelled] paneled C, D

48
. Burying-Ground,] Burying Ground, A, B, C, E

49
. favourite] favorite C, D

50
. preëminently] pre-/eminently C; pre-eminently D

51
. daemoniac] demoniac C, D

52
. degree.] degrees. C, D

53
. forward-slumping] forward slumping, A, B, C, E

54
. shewn] shown A, B, C, D, E

55
. shewn] shown B, C, D, E

56
. shewed] showed A, B, C, D, E

57
. God,] heaven, D

58
. “The Lesson”]
The Lesson
C, D

59
. heaven] Heaven A, B, E

60
. dog-like] doglike A, B, C, D, E

61
. shewing] showing A, B, C, D, E

62
. non-human] nonhuman E

63
. seventeenth-century] Seventeenth Century C, D

64
. shewed] showed B, C, D, E

65
. me,] me; A, B, C, E

66
. studies”.] studies.” E

67
. shews] shows A, B, C, D, E

68
. I’m] I’m middle-aged and decently sophisticated, and I guess you saw enough of me in France to know I’m A, B, C, E

69
. colonial] Colonial D

70
. shewn] shown B, C, D, E

71
. overrunning] over-running E

72
. “Subway Accident”,]
Subway Accident,
C, D; “Subway Accident,” E

73
. shewed] showed B, C, D, E

74
. ant-like] antlike C

75
. guide-book] guidebook A, B, C, E; guide-/book D

76
. “Holmes, . . . Auburn”.] “Holmes, . . . Auburn.” A, B, D, E;
Holmes, . . . Auburn.
C

77
. analyse] analyze C, D

78
. shewed] showed B, C, D, E

79
. mortal] moral D

80
. daemons] demons C, D

81
. conventionalised;] conventionalized; C, D

82
. lifelike,] life-like, D

83
. pandemonium] pandaemonium A, B, E

84
. crystal clear] crystal-clear C, D

85
. heaven!] Heaven! A, B, E

86
. down-cellar] down cellar A, B, C, E

87
. seventeenth century,] Seventeenth Century, C, D

88
. disc] disk C, D

89
. shewed] showed B, C, D, E

90
. pencilled] penciled C, D

91
. guide-lines] guide lines A, B, C, E

92
. re-echoed] echoed A, B, C, E

93
. Creator,] Creator! A, B, C, E

94
. fancy!] fancy. A, B, C, E

95
. But] But, D

96
. mould-caked] mold-caked C, D

97
. Nature’s] nature’s C, D

98
. fiend] Fiend A, B, C, D, E

99
. paper,] paper A, B, C, E

100
. paralysed] paralyzed C, D

101
. squeals or bleats] squeals, or bleats, D; squeals or beats E

102
. gooseflesh] goose-flesh D

103
. before.] before. What did it was it that gripped malignly at my memory, playing with it as a cat plays with a mouse or a ghoul plays with a corpse? God!—Yes—that was it! The wooden cover on that well—the ancient brick well that reached to the labyrinth of witchcraft tunnels to graveyard & den & sea!
It had been pushed up from beneath by something trying to get out.
And even as I reeled from the impact of that idea I heard a steady grating sound. The cover was coming off! ¶ A shot broke the spell.
My eyes, released from the hypnosis of fear,
Whether it was followed by a muffled squawk & a thud I can’t be sure; for my eyes, released from the fright-hypnosis, were focussing all my remaining faculties in a search for a means of escape. I spied a narrow window over the table, & leaping up, was fumbling with the rusty hasp when another shot sounded from the main cellar. A [
excised
]