Delphi Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft(655)

“Well, sir, I’m tellin’ what I’m tellin’, and won’t do no guessin’ like Steve Barbour would a done if he dared. He always was the greatest hand for hintin’ things . . . died ten years ago of pneumony. . . .

“What we heard so faint-like was just poor crazy Johnny, of course. ‘Taint more than a mile to the buryin’-ground, and he must a got out of the window where they’d locked him up at the town farm — even if Constable Blake says he didn’t get out that night. From that day to this he hangs around them graves a-talkin’ to the both of them — cussin’ and kickin’ at Tom’s mound, and puttin’ posies and things on Henry’s. And when he ain’t a-doin’ that he’s hangin’ around Sophie’s shuttered windows howlin’ about what’s a-comin’ soon to git her.

“She wouldn’t never go near the buryin’-ground, and now she won’t come out of the house at all nor see nobody. Got to sayin’ there was a curse on Stillwater — and I’m dinged if she ain’t half right, the way things is a-goin’ to pieces these days. There certainly was somethin’ queer about Sophie right along. Once when Sally Hopkins was a-callin’ on her — in ‘97 or ‘98, I think it was — there was an awful rattlin’ at her winders — and Johnny was safe locked up at the time — at least, so Constable Dodge swore up and down. But I ain’t takin’ no stock in their stories about noises every seventeenth of June, or about faint shinin’ figures a-tryin’ Sophie’s door and winders every black mornin’ about two o’clock.

“You see, it was about two o’clock in the mornin’ that Sophie heard the sounds and keeled over twice that first night after the buryin’. Steve and me, and Matildy and Emily, heard the second lot, faint as it was, just like I told you. And I’m a-tellin’ you again as how it must a been crazy Johnny over to the buryin’-ground, let Jotham Blake claim what he will. There ain’t no tellin’ the sound of a man’s voice so far off, and with our heads full of nonsense it ain’t no wonder we thought there was two voices — and voices that hadn’t ought to be speakin’ at all.

“Steve, he claimed to have heard more than I did. I verily believe he took some stock in ghosts. Matildy and Emily was so scared they didn’t remember what they heard. And curious enough, nobody else in town — if anybody was awake at the ungodly hour — never said nothin’ about hearin’ no sounds at all.

“Whatever it was, was so faint it might have been the wind if there hadn’t been words. I made out a few, but don’t want to say as I’d back up all Steve claimed to have caught. . . .

“‘She-devil’ . . . ‘all the time’ . . . ‘Henry’ . . . and ‘alive’ was plain . . . and so was ‘you know’ . . . ‘said you’d stand by’ . . . ‘get rid of him’ and ‘bury me’ . . . in a kind of changed voice. . . . Then there was that awful ‘comin’ again some day’ — in a death-like squawk . . . but you can’t tell me Johnny couldn’t have made those sounds. . . .

“Hey, you! What’s takin’ you off in such a hurry? Mebbe there’s more I could tell you if I had a mind. . . .”





The Hoard of the Wizard-Beast



By R. H. Barlow and H. P. Lovecraft



There had happened in the teeming and many-towered city of Zeth one of those incidents which are prone to take place in all capitals of all worlds. Nor, simply because Zeth lies on a planet of strange beasts and stranger vegetation, did this incident differ greatly from what might have occurred in London or Paris or any of the great governing towns we know. Through the cleverly concealed dishonesty of an aged but shrewd official, the treasury was exhausted. No shining phrulder, as of old, lay stacked about the strong-room; and over empty coffers the sardonic spider wove webs of mocking design. When, at last, the giphath Yalden entered that obscure vault and discovered the thefts, there were left only some phlegmatic rats which peered sharply at him as at an alien intruder.

There had been no accountings since Kishan the old keeper had died many moon-turns before, and great was Yalden’s dismay to find this emptiness instead of the expected wealth. The indifference of the small creatures in the cracks between the flagstones could not spread itself to him. This was a very grave matter, and would have to be met in a very prompt and serious way. Clearly, there was nothing to do but consult Oorn, and Oorn was a highly portentous being.

Oorn, though a creature of extremely doubtful nature, was the virtual ruler of Zeth. It obviously belonged somewhere in the outer abyss, but had blundered into Zeth one night and suffered capture by the shamith priests. The coincidence of Its excessively bizarre aspect and Its innate gift of mimicry had impressed the sacred brothers as offering vast possibilities, hence in the end they had set It up as a god and an oracle, organising a new brotherhood to serve It — and incidentally to suggest the edicts it should utter and the replies It should give. Like the Delphi and Dodona of a later world, Oorn grew famous as a giver of judgments and solver of riddles; nor did Its essence differ from them save that It lay infinitely earlier in Time, and upon an elder world where all things might happen. And now Yalden, being not above the credulousness of his day and planet, had set out for the close-guarded and richly-fitted hall wherein Oorn brooded and mimicked the promptings of the priests.