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- Говард Лавкрафт
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I
met
also
that
which
had
been
her
grandmother
.
For
eighty
thousand
years
Pth
'
thya-l'yi
had
lived
in
Y'
ha-nthlei
,
and
thither
she
had
gone
back
after
Obed
Marsh
was
dead
.
Y'
ha-nthlei
was
not
destroyed
when
the
upper-earth
men
shot
death
into
the
sea
.
It
was
hurt
,
but
not
destroyed
.
The
Deep
Ones
could
never
be
destroyed
,
even
though
the
palaeogean
magic
of
the
forgotten
Old
Ones
might
sometimes
check
them
.
For
the
present
they
would
rest
;
but
some
day
,
if
they
remembered
,
they
would
rise
again
for
the
tribute
Great
Cthulhu
craved
.
It
would
be
a
city
greater
than
Innsmouth
next
time
.
They
had
planned
to
spread
,
and
had
brought
up
that
which
would
help
them
,
but
now
they
must
wait
once
more
.
For
bringing
the
upper-earth
men
's
death
I
must
do
a
penance
,
but
that
would
not
be
heavy
.
This
was
the
dream
in
which
I
saw
a
shoggoth
for
the
first
time
,
and
the
sight
set
me
awake
in
a
frenzy
of
screaming
.
That
morning
the
mirror
definitely
told
me
I
had
acquired
the
Innsmouth
look
.
So
far
I
have
not
shot
myself
as
my
uncle
Douglas
did
.
I
bought
an
automatic
and
almost
took
the
step
,
but
certain
dreams
deterred
me
.
The
tense
extremes
of
horror
are
lessening
,
and
I
feel
queerly
drawn
toward
the
unknown
sea-deeps
instead
of
fearing
them
I
hear
and
do
strange
things
in
sleep
,
and
awake
with
a
kind
of
exaltation
instead
of
terror
.
I
do
not
believe
I
need
to
wait
for
the
full
change
as
most
have
waited
.
If
I
did
,
my
father
would
probably
shut
me
up
in
a
sanitarium
as
my
poor
little
cousin
is
shut
up
.
Stupendous
and
unheard-of
splendors
await
me
below
,
and
I
shall
seek
them
soon
.
Ia-R
'
lyehl
Cihuiha
flgagnl
id
Ia
!
No
,
I
shall
not
shoot
myself
--
I
can
not
be
made
to
shoot
myself
!
I
shall
plan
my
cousin
's
escape
from
that
Canton
mad-house
,
and
together
we
shall
go
to
marvel-shadowed
Innsmouth
.
We
shall
swim
out
to
that
brooding
reef
in
the
sea
and
dive
down
through
black
abysses
to
Cyclopean
and
many-columned
Y'
ha-nthlei
,
and
in
that
lair
of
the
Deep
Ones
we
shall
dwell
amidst
wonder
and
glory
for
ever
.
It
was
a
gentle
daylight
rain
that
awaked
me
front
my
stupor
in
the
brush-grown
railway
cut
,
and
when
I
staggered
out
to
the
roadway
ahead
I
saw
no
trace
of
any
prints
in
the
fresh
mud
.
The
fishy
odour
,
too
,
was
gone
,
Innsmouth
's
ruined
roofs
and
toppling
steeples
loomed
up
greyly
toward
the
southeast
,
but
not
a
living
creature
did
I
spy
in
all
the
desolate
salt
marshes
around
.
My
watch
was
still
going
,
and
told
me
that
the
hour
was
past
noon
.
The
reality
of
what
I
had
been
through
was
highly
uncertain
in
my
mind
,
but
I
felt
that
something
hideous
lay
in
the
background
.
I
must
get
away
from
evil-shadowed
Innsmouth
--
and
accordingly
I
began
to
test
my
cramped
,
wearied
powers
of
locomotion
.
Despite
weakness
hunger
,
horror
,
and
bewilderment
I
found
myself
after
a
time
able
to
walk
;
so
started
slowly
along
the
muddy
road
to
Rowley
.
Before
evening
I
was
in
village
,
getting
a
meal
and
providing
myself
with
presentable
clothes
.
I
caught
the
night
train
to
Arkham
,
and
the
next
day
talked
long
and
earnestly
with
government
officials
there
;
a
process
I
later
repeated
in
Boston
.
With
the
main
result
of
these
colloquies
the
public
is
now
familiar
--
and
I
wish
,
for
normality
's
sake
,
there
were
nothing
more
to
tell
.
Perhaps
it
is
madness
that
is
overtaking
me
--
yet
perhaps
a
greater
horror
--
or
a
greater
marvel
--
is
reaching
out
.
As
may
well
be
imagined
,
I
gave
up
most
of
the
foreplanned
features
of
the
rest
of
my
tour
--
the
scenic
,
architectural
,
and
antiquarian
diversions
on
which
I
had
counted
so
heavily
.
Nor
did
I
dare
look
for
that
piece
of
strange
jewelry
said
to
be
in
the
Miskatonic
University
Museum
.
I
did
,
however
,
improve
my
stay
in
Arkham
by
collecting
some
genealogical
notes
I
had
long
wished
to
possess
;
very
rough
and
hasty
data
,
it
is
true
,
but
capable
of
good
use
later
on
when
I
might
have
time
to
collate
and
codify
them
.
The
curator
of
the
historical
society
there
--
Mr.
B.
Lapham
Peabody
--
was
very
courteous
about
assisting
me
,
and
expressed
unusual
interest
when
I
told
him
I
was
a
grandson
of
Eliza
Orne
of
Arkham
,
who
was
born
in
1867
and
had
married
James
Williamson
of
Ohio
at
the
age
of
seventeen
.
It
seemed
that
a
maternal
uncle
of
mine
had
been
there
many
years
before
on
a
quest
much
like
my
own
;
and
that
my
grandmother
's
family
was
a
topic
of
some
local
curiosity
.
There
had
,
Mr.
Peabody
said
,
been
considerable
discussion
about
the
marriage
of
her
father
,
Benjamin
Orne
,
just
after
the
Civil
War
;
since
the
ancestry
of
the
bride
was
peculiarly
puzzling
.
That
bride
was
understood
to
have
been
an
orphaned
Marsh
of
New
Hampshire
--
a
cousin
of
the
Essex
County
Marshes
--
but
her
education
had
been
in
France
and
she
knew
very
little
of
her
family
.
A
guardian
had
deposited
funds
in
a
Boston
bank
to
maintain
her
and
her
French
governess
;
but
that
guardian
's
name
was
unfamiliar
to
Arkham
people
,
and
in
time
he
dropped
out
of
sight
,
so
that
the
governess
assumed
the
role
by
court
appointment
.
The
Frenchwoman
--
now
long
dead
--
was
very
taciturn
,
and
there
were
those
who
said
she
could
have
told
more
than
she
did
.
But
the
most
baffling
thing
was
the
inability
of
anyone
to
place
the
recorded
parents
of
the
young
woman
--
Enoch
and
Lydia
(
Meserve
)
Marsh
--
among
the
known
families
of
New
Hampshire
.
Possibly
,
many
suggested
,
she
was
the
natural
daughter
of
some
Marsh
of
prominence
--
she
certainly
had
the
true
Marsh
eyes
.
Most
of
the
puzzling
was
done
after
her
early
death
,
which
took
place
at
the
birth
of
my
grandmother
--
her
only
child
.
Having
formed
some
disagreeable
impressions
connected
with
the
name
of
Marsh
,
I
did
not
welcome
the
news
that
it
belonged
on
my
own
ancestral
tree
;
nor
was
I
pleased
by
Mr.
Peabody
's
suggestion
that
I
had
the
true
Marsh
eyes
myself
.
However
,
I
was
grateful
for
data
which
I
knew
would
prove
valuable
;
and
took
copious
notes
and
lists
of
book
references
regarding
the
well-documented
Orne
family
.
