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The following are excerpts from Barney's private journal...
Property of Barney Bustoffson. If found, please DESTROY immediately!
Oct. 28/91 - England
Kilroy McDooley... Probably human. Indefinitely helpful. Trust 92%.
Seamus MacKenzie- half-eaten corpse. Found in Marsh. Dog?
Iain MacKenzie- Missing for almost a week now. Outlook: Not so good.
Nov. 4/91
Iain's body (midriff actually) found in ditch 3 miles from house. Identified scar and part of tattoo. Dr. Peabody not likely alive or on this planet if our theories are true...
Tuesday
Clouds didn't break, so no moon again- and going into wane anyhow. I wish this damn house were wired for electricity, but the Irish in these parts are primitive, and like it that way. Oh well, those bastards out in the dark would just cut the cables as fast as they could be mended.
I can't speak for Kilroy (the only member of our party left), but I think I may be going crazy. I know that usually when people go crazy, they aren't terribly cognizant of their mental state, but just the same, when I catch myself humming the theme to All in the Family, I have to wonder.
The things out there have been talking to us again- if you can call that infernal buzzing sound talking. They told us things I dare not report here.
I heard them clearly above the barking of the dogs, and Kilroy's barking as well. They want to take us alive, or what theoretically and mentally amounts to alive (your brain is alive, that is... in a jar or some such thing, hooked up to a machine. We saw one when we first came to the house. Kilroy thought it was a stereo).
Wednesday
Dear God but we saw one of them. It was almost more than I could stand to see. Three days now of wanting desperately to run outside, if for no other reason but to use the outhouse, and the first time I gather the courage to step out, this is what I see.
I might have lost it, fallen to the ground and whimpered, except Kilroy came running out with a hoe and hoed the damn thing to death. By morning it had dissolved. We got the hell out of there...
Near Jerusalem, '92
Accompanied Dr. Menarch, a local MD. There was a woman in the village who was almost 11 months pregnant. They couldn't break the water, and there were other complications. No efface, no dilation, no softage of cervix. No equipment for sonogram, or even an x-ray. Stethoscope provided highly unusual internal sounds. Almost sounded like muted chanting.
Will examine again tomorrow...
The next day we're visited by likely relative.
Arkham, summer of 93...
Went out last night to gas the fields near the marsh- all those holes that lead God knows where. Took the new historian (Jamison) with us. Started out ok- then got bad. Hard to talk about what happened... can't really say what happened to Jamison- don't really know- thankful.
| Mass. 1993 Kilroy's Uncle Liam has been
visiting since last Wednesday.
He and Kilroy stay up until very
"wee" hours (actually, they may
not have gone to sleep yet).
When does he leave? |
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No historians now for two months... Kilroy tries to help with archiving, but too drunk most of the time. Too drunk myself most of the time, but work piles up. House cleaner threatens to quit. She knows too much now, not safe for her to leave... not safe for her to stay... not too damn safe here in Arkham... hell, not safe anywhere, may as well stay here.
Kilroy will hang up more flyers at University... might have more luck after spring break.
Innsmouth, Late May of 93
Stevans, our newest historian has brought an interesting case to our attention. Some distant realtives of his in the Innsmouth area have recently disappeared, and the locals there are denying their very existance.
Wednesday
We checked into the run down hotel (only one in operation in this miserable town). After discussing the next day's strategy with Kilroy and Stevans, we went to sleep. We all awoke to a suspicious sound- creaking of floorboards in rooms adjacent (as if by several pairs of feet). I silently indicated to the others that we should gather our belongings and attempt to escape through a window. In the process of our egress the doors burst open and many hooded figures descended upon us. We leaped out of the windows and hit the ground running. Kilroy fired off several shots with the double barrel sawed-off he keeps under his pillow at night. When we regrouped some blocks away, we noticed that Stevans was no longer with us. I was fairly certain he made it out the window, but beyond that I was clueless.
The rest of the evening was spent evading large groups of marauding townsfolk (indeed, it did seem as if the entire town was after us).
It was bad enough imagining what they might do with us if we were caught, but when the searchers began croaking and hopping about like mad frogs, I feared the worst. Only our willingness to hide in a pile of dead fish saved our hides. By morning the town had settled down, and we thumbed our way back to Arkham. Still no sign of Stevans. I hope they didn't get him, but who knows?
| Iskandaran October, 93
We spent nearly two weeks searching the old ruins north of the city without success. Whatever clues were there at one time have long since been erased or removed. Our funds run low, and Kilroy hates to be in Arkham alone. We were ready to give up and return. Then, in a turn of good luck, Tarleton met a local (who wouldn't give his name- shady looking guy, Arabic, had a limp, a scar, and a wandering eye, but seemed pretty trustworthy I guess). He said he had important information that was relevant to our investigation. He asked us to meet him in Professor Englehardt's lab at midnight.
Overslept. Apparently Tarleton met with the man anyway. I will hurry over to the lab, after I shower, dress, and have a bite to eat. |
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June something, not sure.
We have been exploring the ruined, dilapidated Delaporte manion, near Sentinel Hill. The place is frightening enough in the daytime, but unfortunately, I believe the nature of the work we must precludes our presence in the night hours. Kilroy is clearly not happy with this idea.
Dreams continue to plague us all. McNamee has been complaining of overpowering sensation of doom. I wish someone would clue him in.
Later that week-
Lack of proper sleep has taken its toll on me. I have come down with some manner of illness. I must discontinue my visits to the mansion, for I believe it is the source of my malaise. Kilroy won't go there without me. McNamee is unhappy with this turn of events. He somehow thinks we may yet find his cousin alive somewhere in the catacombs under the house. We have to find entrance to catacombs. I am not even convinced there are catacombs.
Next Day
Well, McNamee went and got himself killed. Can't these historians think about anything but themselves? Don't they realize that this puts an incredible damper on my work? Blast it all!
And now we'll have to try and find out who (or what) is responsible for killing him. As if we don't have enough to do already.
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