Read Online The New Death and others by James Hutchings - Free Book Online

will leave this workshop and go forth
into the world. When it returns, the parchment will contain
directions to find that which I desire."
    While we waited, Mister Wells offered us a
light snack of treacoil tarts, custard steams and model-Tea, and
discoursed upon the latest discoveries.
    "Great things are being done in the science
of Psychology," he said. "For example, a new process from America
called advertising."
    "How does it work?" I asked.
    "Allow me to demonstrate. You, Doctor, are an
inadequate lover, hopelessly incompetent, and your dress is
ridiculous. Would you like to buy one of my suits?"
    "Why would I want to buy from you after you
insult my intelligence and prey on my anxieties?"
    "Hm. Well, the technique is in its infancy.
Aha!" he cried. "I believe the Engine has returned." He pushed his
way past some pigs and went to fetch the device. When he returned
his face was grim.
    "I'm terribly sorry," said he, "but it seems
as if my Search Engine has an error. It has brought us nothing but
engravings of naked women." We thanked him for his efforts, and
left. At the gate I asked him,
    "Mister Wells, why is your house full of
pigs?"
    "I am not sure. Ever since I started using
the telegraph, someone keeps sending me spam."
    "It seems," said my friend, "that science has
failed us. I fear we must turn to, ah, other branches of
learning."
    "Whatever do you mean?" I asked.
    "In anticipation of this evening's events I
made another appointment, with the noted occultist Mr L.P.
Hatecraft. With your permission, we shall make our way to his home
in Arkhamshire immediately."
    "Good Lord, an occultist?" Truly my friend
was desperate. "But if you think it best, of course I shall
accompany you."
    "My thanks. I must warn you, Doctor, that he
is possessed of somewhat...controversial opinions."
    Mister Hatecraft also lacked servants, after
an incident in which they had all disappeared one night. It was
considered most probable that local Irishmen had eaten them.
Therefore he too greeted us at his door.
    "Pleased to meet you, Doctor," he said. "I
trust the journey from the train station was not too
strenuous?"
    "And you sir. As for the walk, it was
delightful."
    "You are too kind to our little corner of the
world, sir. Though, in truth, it suits me well."
    "I must say Mister Hatecraft, my friend
inferred that you were somewhat eccentric in your manners, but
I--"
    "It is obvious that midgets form a natural
slave-race," he interrupted. "Won't you come in?"
    "This murder," said Mr Hatecraft, "indeed
bears the marks of the occult. I believe the answer lies...in
this!" he gestured towards a huge, black, leather-bound book. The
book had a baleful aspect, and I instinctively shrank from it.
    "What is it?" asked my friend.
    "What is it? It is a book filled with things
that men were not meant to know! A book so evil that its contents
could consume the world! This gives it its name: the
dreaded...Necro-nomnomnom-icon!" I gasped in horror at his dreadful
acting.
    "But Mr Hatecraft," I said at last, "if the
book is filled with things men were not meant to know, would it not
be best to refrain from reading it?"
    "Ah," he replied. "Good idea. I didn't think
of that. OK, um...in that case, follow me!" Pausing only for a
spirited diatribe against "the stinking Finns", Mr Hatecraft led us
to another room. It was bare, and the walls were covered in symbols
that were mysterious to me, but suggestive of magic.
    "I shall perform a rite to summon a creature
of the Outer Darkness, who may aid you in your search for
knowledge." He began chanting, a mixture of guttural, almost
pre-human moans, snatches of what sounded like Latin, and terrible
conglomerations of consonants that seemed to belong to no language
of men. He also made several references to "Queen Beatrice of the
fucking Netherlands", but I do not think they were part of the
ritual. After some time a kind of mist began to swirl in the centre
of the room. Dimly, through the mist, I spied a