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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0fa8bd3 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68553 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68553) diff --git a/old/68553-0.txt b/old/68553-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 129a6f9..0000000 --- a/old/68553-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,728 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The festival, by H. P. Lovecraft - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The festival - -Author: H. P. Lovecraft - -Release Date: July 18, 2022 [eBook #68553] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FESTIVAL *** - - - - - - -The Festival - -By H. P. Lovecraft - -Author of “Dagon,” “The Rats in the Walls,” etc. - - - “Efficiunt daemones, ut quae non sunt, sic tamen quasi - sint, conspicienda hominibus exhibeant.”--Lactantius. - - -I was far from home, and the spell of the eastern sea was upon me. In -the twilight I heard it pounding on the rocks, and I knew it lay just -over the hill where the twisting willows writhed against the clearing -sky and the first stars of evening. And because my fathers had called -me to the old town beyond, I pushed on through the shallow, new-fallen -snow along the road that soared lonely up to where Aldebaran twinkled -among the trees; on toward the very ancient town I had never seen but -often dreamed of. - -It was the Yuletide, which men call Christmas, though they know in -their hearts it is older than Bethlehem and Babylon, older than -Memphis and mankind. It was the Yuletide, and I had come at last to -the ancient sea town where my people had dwelt and kept festival in -the elder time when festival was forbidden; where also they had -commanded their sons to keep festival once every century, that the -memory of primal secrets might not be forgotten. Mine were an old -people, old even when this land was settled three hundred years -before. And they were strange, because they had come as dark, furtive -folk from opiate southern gardens of orchids, and spoken another -tongue before they learnt the tongue of the blue-eyed fishers. And now -they were scattered, and shared only the rituals of mysteries that -none living could understand. I was the only one who came back that -night to the old fishing town as legend bade, for only the poor and -the lonely remember. - -Then beyond the hill’s crest I saw Kingsport outspread frostily in the -gloaming; snowy Kingsport with its ancient vanes and steeples, -ridgepoles and chimneypots, wharves and small bridges, willow trees -and graveyards; endless labyrinths of steep, narrow, crooked streets, -and dizzy church-crowned central peak that time durst not touch; -ceaseless mazes of colonial houses piled and scattered at all angles -and levels like a child’s disordered blocks; antiquity hovering on -gray wings over winter-whitened gables and gambrel roofs. And against -the rotting wharves the sea pounded; the secretive, immemorial sea out -of which the people had come in the elder time. - -Beside the road at its crest a still higher summit rose, bleak and -windswept, and I saw that it was a burying-ground where black -gravestones stuck ghoulishly through the snow like the decayed -fingernails of a gigantic corpse. The printless road was very lonely, -and sometimes I thought I heard a distant horrible creaking as of a -gibbet in the wind. They had hanged four kinsmen of mine for -witchcraft in 1692, but I did not know just where. - -As the road wound down the seaward slope I listened for the merry -sounds of a village at evening, but did not hear them. Then I thought -of the season, and felt that these old Puritan folk might well have -Christmas customs strange to me, and full of silent hearthside prayer. -So after that I did not listen for merriment or look for wayfarers, -but kept on down past the hushed, lighted farmhouses and shadowy stone -walls to where the signs of ancient shops and sea taverns creaked in -the salt breeze, and the grotesque knockers of pillared doorways -glistened along deserted, unpaved lanes in the light of little, -curtained windows. - -I had seen maps of the town, and knew where to find the home of my -people. It was told that I should be known and welcomed, for village -legend lives long; so I hastened through Back Street to Circle Court, -and across the fresh snow on the one full flagstone pavement in the -town, to where Green Lane leads off behind the Market House. I was -glad I had chosen to walk. The white village had seemed very beautiful -from the hill; and now I was eager to knock at the door of my people, -the seventh house on the left in Green Lane, with an ancient peaked -roof and jutting second story, all built before 1650. - -There were lights inside the house when I came upon it, and I saw from -the diamond window-panes that it must have been kept very close to its -antique state. The upper part overhung the narrow, grass-grown street -and nearly met the overhanging part of the house opposite, so that I -was almost in a tunnel, with the low stone doorstep wholly free from -snow. There was no sidewalk, but many houses had high doors reached by -double flights of steps with iron railings. It was an odd scene, and -because I was strange to New England I had never known its like -before. Though it pleased me, I would have relished it better if there -had been footprints in the snow, and people in the streets, and a few -windows without drawn curtains. - - * * * * * - -When I sounded the archaic iron knocker I was half afraid. Some fear -had been gathering in me, perhaps because of the strangeness of my -heritage, and the bleakness of the evening, and the queerness of the -silence in that aged town of curious customs. And when my knock was -answered I was fully afraid, because I had not heard any footsteps -before the door creaked open. But I was not afraid long, for the -gowned, slippered old man in the doorway had a bland face that -reassured me; and though he made signs that he was dumb, he wrote a -quaint and ancient welcome with the stylus and wax tablet he carried. - -He beckoned me into a low, candlelit room with massive exposed rafters -and dark, stiff, sparse furniture of the seventeenth century. The past -was vivid there, for not an attribute was missing. There was a -cavernous fireplace and a spinning-wheel at which a bent old woman in -loose wrapper and deep poke-bonnet sat back toward me, silently -spinning despite the festive season. An infinite dampness seemed upon -the place, and I marveled that no fire should be blazing. The -high-backed settle faced the row of curtained windows at the left, and -seemed to be occupied, though I was not sure. I did not like -everything about what I saw, and felt again the fear I had had. This -fear grew stronger from what had before lessened it, for the more I -looked at the old man’s bland face, the more its very blandness -terrified me. The eyes never moved, and the skin was too like wax. -Finally I was sure it was not a face at all, but a fiendishly cunning -mask. But the flabby hands, curiously gloved, wrote genially on the -tablet and told me I must wait a while before I could be led to the -place of festival. - -Pointing to a chair, table, and pile of books, the old man now left, -the room; and when I sat down to read I saw that the books were hoary -and moldy, and that they included old Morryster’s wild “Marvels of -Science,” the terrible “Saducismus Triumphatus” of Joseph Glanvil, -published in 1681, the shocking “Daemonolatreia” of Remigius, printed -in 1595 at Lyons, and worst of all, the unmentionable “Necronomicon” -of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, in Olaus Wormius’ forbidden Latin -translation: a book which I had never seen, but of which I had heard -monstrous things whispered. No one spoke to me, but I could hear the -creaking of signs in the wind outside, and the whir of the wheel as -the bonneted old woman continued her silent spinning, spinning. - -I thought the room and the books and the people very morbid and -disquieting, but because an old tradition of my father’s had summoned -me to strange feastings, I resolved to expect queer things. So I tried -to read, and soon became tremblingly absorbed by something I found in -that accursed “Necronomicon”; a thought and a legend too hideous for -sanity or consciousness. But I disliked it when I fancied I heard the -closing of one of the windows that the settle faced, as if it had been -stealthily opened. It had seemed to follow a whirring that was not of -the old woman’s spinning-wheel. This was not much, though, for the old -woman was spinning very hard, and the aged clock had been striking. -After that I lost the feeling that there were persons on the settle, -and was reading intently and shudderingly when the old man came back -booted and dressed in a loose antique costume, and sat down on that -very bench, so that I could not see him. It was certainly nervous -waiting, and the blasphemous book in my hands made it doubly so. When -11 o’clock struck, however, the old man stood up, glided to a massive -carved chest in a corner, and got two hooded cloaks, one of which he -donned, and the other of which he draped round the old woman, who was -ceasing her monotonous spinning. Then they both started for the outer -door; the woman lamely creeping, and the old man, after picking up the -very book I had been reading, beckoning me as he drew his hood over -that unmoving face or mask. - -We went out into the moonless and tortuous network of that incredibly -ancient town; went out as the lights in the curtained windows -disappeared one by one, and the Dog Star leered at the throng of -cowled, cloaked figures that poured silently from every doorway and -formed monstrous processions up this street and that, past the -creaking signs and antediluvian gables, the thatched roofs and the -diamond-paned windows; threading precipitous lanes where decaying -houses overlapped and crumbled together, gliding across open courts -and churchyards where the bobbing lanterns made eldritch drunken -constellations. - -Amid these hushed throngs I followed my voiceless guides; jostled by -elbows that seemed preternaturally soft, and pressed by chests and -stomachs that seemed abnormally pulpy; but seeing never a face and -hearing never a word. Up, up, up, the eery columns slithered, and I -saw that all the travelers were converging as they flowed near a sort -of focus of crazy alleys at the top of a high hill in the center of -the town, where perched a great white church. I had seen it from the -road’s crest when I looked at Kingsport in the new dusk, and it had -made me shiver because Aldebaran had seemed to balance itself a moment -on the ghostly spire. - -There was an open space around the church; partly a churchyard with -spectral shafts, and partly a half-paved square swept nearly bare of -snow by the wind, and lined with unwholesomely archaic houses having -peaked roofs and overhanging gables. Death-fires danced over the -tombs, revealing gruesome vistas, though queerly failing to cast any -shadows. Past the churchyard, where there were no houses, I could see -over the hill’s summit and watch the glimmer of stars on the harbor, -though the town was invisible in the dark. Only once in a while a -lantern bobbed horribly through serpentine alleys on its way to -overtake the throng that was now slipping speechlessly into the -church. - -I waited till the crowd had oozed into the black doorway, and till all -the stragglers had followed. The old man was pulling at my sleeve, but -I was determined to be the last. Then finally I went, the sinister man -and the old spinning woman before me. Crossing the threshold into that -swarming temple of unknown darkness, I turned once to look at the -outside world as the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on -the hilltop pavement. And as I did so I shuddered. For though the wind -had not left much snow, a few patches did remain on the path near the -door; and in that fleeting backward look it seemed to my troubled eye -that they bore no mark of passing feet, not even mine. - -The church was scarce lighted by all the lanterns that had entered it, -for most of the throng had already vanished. They had streamed up the -aisle between the high white pews to the trapdoor of the vaults which -yawned loathsomely open just before the pulpit, and were now squirming -noiselessly in. I followed dumbly down the footworn steps and into the -dank, suffocating crypt. The tail of that sinuous line of -night-marchers seemed very horrible, and as I saw them wriggling into -a venerable tomb, they seemed more horrible still. Then I noticed that -the tomb’s floor had an aperture down which the throng was sliding, -and in a moment we were all descending an ominous staircase of -rough-hewn stone; a narrow spiral staircase damp and peculiarly -odorous, that wound endlessly down into the bowels of the hill, past -monotonous walls of dripping stone blocks and crumbling mortar. It was -a silent, shocking descent, and I observed after a horrible interval -that the walls and steps were changing in nature, as if chiseled out -of the solid rock. What mainly troubled me was that the myriad -footfalls made no sound and set up no echoes. After more eons of -descent I saw some side passages or burrows leading from unknown -recesses of blackness to this shaft of nighted mystery. Soon they -became excessively numerous, like impious catacombs of nameless -menace; and their pungent odor of decay grew quite unbearable. I knew -we must have passed down through the mountain and beneath the earth of -Kingsport itself, and I shivered that a town should be so aged and -maggoty with subterraneous evil. - -Then I saw the lurid shimmering of pale light, and heard the insidious -lapping of sunless waters. Again I shivered, for I did not like the -things that the night had brought, and wished bitterly that no -forefather had summoned me to this primal rite. As the steps and the -passage grew broader, I heard another sound, the thin, whining mockery -of a feeble flute; and suddenly there spread out before me the -boundless vista of an inner world--a vast fungous shore litten by a -belching column of sick greenish flame and washed by a wide oily river -that flowed from abysses frightful and unsuspected to join the -blackest gulfs of immemorial ocean. - - * * * * * - -Fainting and gasping, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan -toadstools, leprous fire and slimy water, and saw the cloaked throngs -forming a semicircle around the blazing pillar. It was the Yule-rite, -older than man and fated to survive him; the primal rite of the -solstice and of spring’s promise beyond the snows; the rite of fire -and evergreen, light and music. And in that Stygian grotto I saw them -do the rite, and adore the sick pillar of flame, and throw into the -water handfuls gouged out of the viscous vegetation which glittered -green in the chlorotic glare. I saw this, and I saw something -amorphously squatted far away from the light, piping noisomely on a -flute; and as the thing piped I thought I heard noxious muffled -flutterings in the fetid darkness where I could not see. But what -frightened me most was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from -depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame -should, and coating the nitrous stone above with a nasty, venomous -verdigris. For in all that seething combustion no warmth lay, but only -the clamminess of death and corruption. - -The man who had brought me now squirmed to a point directly beside the -hideous flame, and made stiff ceremonial motions to the semicircle he -faced. At certain stages of the ritual they did groveling obeisance, -especially when he held above his head that abhorrent “Necronomicon” -he had taken with him; and I shared all the obeisances because I had -been summoned to this festival by the writings of my forefathers. Then -the old man made a signal to the half-seen flute-player in the -darkness, which player thereupon changed its feeble drone to a scarce -louder drone in another key; precipitating as it did so a horror -unthinkable and unexpected. At this horror I sank nearly to the -lichened earth, transfixed with a dread not of this nor any world, but -only of the mad spaces between the stars. - -Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of that -cold flame, out of the tartarean leagues through which that oily river -rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped rhythmically a -horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no sound eye could -ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not -altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor vampire bats, -nor decomposed human beings, but something I cannot and must not -recall. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and -half with their membranous wings; and as they reached the throng of -celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and rode off -one by one along the reaches of that unlighted river, into pits and -galleries of panic where poison springs feed frightful and -undiscoverable cataracts. - -The old spinning woman had gone with the throng, and the old man -remained only because I had refused when he motioned me to seize an -animal and ride like the rest. I saw when I staggered to my feet that -the amorphous flute-player had rolled out of sight, but that two of -the beasts were patiently standing by. As I hung back, the old man -produced his stylus and tablet and wrote that he was the true deputy -of my fathers who had founded the Yule worship in this ancient place; -that it had been decreed I should come back; and that the most secret -mysteries were yet to be performed. He wrote this in a very ancient -hand, and when I still hesitated he pulled from his loose robe a seal -ring and a watch, both with my family arms, to prove that he was what -he said. But it was a hideous proof, because I knew from old papers that -that watch had been buried with my great-great-great-great-grandfather -in 1698. - -Presently the old man drew back his hood and pointed to the family -resemblance in his face, but I only shuddered, because I was sure that -the face was merely a devilish waxen mask. The flopping animals were -now scratching restlessly at the lichens, and I saw that the old man -was nearly as restless himself. When one of the things began to waddle -and edge away, he turned quickly to stop it; so that the suddenness of -his motion dislodged the waxen mask from what should have been his -head. And then, because that nightmare’s position barred me from the -stone staircase down which we had come, I flung myself into the oily -underground river that bubbled somewhere to the caves of the sea; -flung myself into that putrescent juice of earth’s inner horrors -before the madness of my screams could bring down upon me all the -charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal. - - * * * * * - -At the hospital they told me I had been found half-frozen in Kingsport -Harbor at dawn, clinging to the drifting spar that accident sent to -save me. They told me I had taken the wrong fork of the hill road the -night before, and fallen over the cliffs at Orange Point--a thing they -deducted from prints found in the snow. There was nothing I could say, -because everything was wrong. Everything was wrong, with the broad -window showing a sea of roofs in which only about one in five was -ancient, and the sound of trolleys and motors in the streets below. -They insisted that this was Kingsport, and I could not deny it. - -When I went delirious at hearing that the hospital stood near the old -churchyard on Central Hill, they sent me to St. Mary’s Hospital in -Arkham, where I could have better care. I liked it there, for the -doctors were broadminded, and even lent me their influence in -obtaining the carefully sheltered copy of Alhazred’s objectionable -“Necronomicon” from the library of Miskatonic University. They said -something about a “psychosis,” and agreed that I had better get my -harassing obsessions off my mind. - -So I read again that hideous chapter, and shuddered doubly because it -was indeed not new to me. I had seen it before, let footprints tell -what they might; and where it was I had seen it were best forgotten. -There was no one--in waking hours--who could remind me of it; but my -dreams are filled with terror, because of phrases I dare not quote. I -dare quote only one paragraph, put into such English as I can make -from the awkward Low Latin. - -“The nethermost caverns,” wrote the mad Arab, “are not for the -fathoming of eyes that see; for their marvels are strange and -terrific. Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly -bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head. Wisely did Ibn -Schacabac say that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and -happy the town at night whose wizards are all in ashes. For it is of -old rumor that the soul of the devil-bought hastes not from his -charnel clay, but fats and instructs _the very worm that gnaws_; till -out of corruption horrid life springs, and the dull scavengers of -earth wax crafty to vex it and swell monstrous to plague it. Great -holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and -things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl.” - -[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 1925 issue of -Weird Tales Magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FESTIVAL *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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P. Lovecraft</title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:8%; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } - h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em; } - .tn { background-color:linen; font-size:0.8em; border:1px solid silver; width:80%; - margin-top:1.8em; margin-left:8%; margin-bottom:1em; padding:0.4em 2%; } - .w001 { margin-left:17%; width:65% } - .x-ebookmaker .w001 { margin-left:12%; width:75% } - .mt01 { margin-top:1em; } - .mb01 { margin-bottom:1em; } - hr.tb { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; width:50%; margin:0.7em auto; } - </style> -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The festival, by H. P. Lovecraft</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The festival</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. P. Lovecraft</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 18, 2022 [eBook #68553]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FESTIVAL ***</div> - -<h1>The Festival</h1> -<div style='text-align:center;'>By H. P. Lovecraft</div> -<div style='text-align: center; font-size:smaller'>Author of “Dagon,” “The Rats in the Walls,” etc.</div> - -<div id='ifpc' class='mt01 mb01 w001'> - <img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%' /> -</div> - -<blockquote> -“Efficiunt daemones, ut quae non sunt, sic tamen quasi - sint, conspicienda hominibus exhibeant.”—Lactantius. -</blockquote> - -<p>I was far from home, and the spell of the eastern sea was upon me. -In the twilight I heard it pounding on the rocks, and I knew it lay -just over the hill where the twisting willows writhed against the -clearing sky and the first stars of evening. And because my fathers -had called me to the old town beyond, I pushed on through the -shallow, new-fallen snow along the road that soared lonely up to -where Aldebaran twinkled among the trees; on toward the very ancient -town I had never seen but often dreamed of.</p> - -<p>It was the Yuletide, which men call Christmas, though they know in -their hearts it is older than Bethlehem and Babylon, older than -Memphis and mankind. It was the Yuletide, and I had come at last to -the ancient sea town where my people had dwelt and kept festival in -the elder time when festival was forbidden; where also they had -commanded their sons to keep festival once every century, that the -memory of primal secrets might not be forgotten. Mine were an old -people, old even when this land was settled three hundred years -before. And they were strange, because they had come as dark, -furtive folk from opiate southern gardens of orchids, and spoken -another tongue before they learnt the tongue of the blue-eyed -fishers. And now they were scattered, and shared only the rituals of -mysteries that none living could understand. I was the only one who -came back that night to the old fishing town as legend bade, for -only the poor and the lonely remember.</p> - -<p>Then beyond the hill’s crest I saw Kingsport outspread frostily in -the gloaming; snowy Kingsport with its ancient vanes and steeples, -ridgepoles and chimneypots, wharves and small bridges, willow trees -and graveyards; endless labyrinths of steep, narrow, crooked -streets, and dizzy church-crowned central peak that time durst not -touch; ceaseless mazes of colonial houses piled and scattered at all -angles and levels like a child’s disordered blocks; antiquity -hovering on gray wings over winter-whitened gables and gambrel -roofs. And against the rotting wharves the sea pounded; the -secretive, immemorial sea out of which the people had come in the -elder time.</p> - -<p>Beside the road at its crest a still higher summit rose, bleak and -windswept, and I saw that it was a burying-ground where black -gravestones stuck ghoulishly through the snow like the decayed -fingernails of a gigantic corpse. The printless road was very -lonely, and sometimes I thought I heard a distant horrible creaking -as of a gibbet in the wind. They had hanged four kinsmen of mine for -witchcraft in 1692, but I did not know just where.</p> - -<p>As the road wound down the seaward slope I listened for the merry -sounds of a village at evening, but did not hear them. Then I -thought of the season, and felt that these old Puritan folk might -well have Christmas customs strange to me, and full of silent -hearthside prayer. So after that I did not listen for merriment or -look for wayfarers, but kept on down past the hushed, lighted -farmhouses and shadowy stone walls to where the signs of ancient -shops and sea taverns creaked in the salt breeze, and the grotesque -knockers of pillared doorways glistened along deserted, unpaved -lanes in the light of little, curtained windows.</p> - -<p>I had seen maps of the town, and knew where to find the home of my -people. It was told that I should be known and welcomed, for village -legend lives long; so I hastened through Back Street to Circle -Court, and across the fresh snow on the one full flagstone pavement -in the town, to where Green Lane leads off behind the Market House. -I was glad I had chosen to walk. The white village had seemed very -beautiful from the hill; and now I was eager to knock at the door of -my people, the seventh house on the left in Green Lane, with an -ancient peaked roof and jutting second story, all built before 1650.</p> - -<p>There were lights inside the house when I came upon it, and I saw -from the diamond window-panes that it must have been kept very close -to its antique state. The upper part overhung the narrow, -grass-grown street and nearly met the overhanging part of the house -opposite, so that I was almost in a tunnel, with the low stone -doorstep wholly free from snow. There was no sidewalk, but many -houses had high doors reached by double flights of steps with iron -railings. It was an odd scene, and because I was strange to New -England I had never known its like before. Though it pleased me, I -would have relished it better if there had been footprints in the -snow, and people in the streets, and a few windows without drawn -curtains.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>When I sounded the archaic iron knocker I was half afraid. Some fear -had been gathering in me, perhaps because of the strangeness of my -heritage, and the bleakness of the evening, and the queerness of the -silence in that aged town of curious customs. And when my knock was -answered I was fully afraid, because I had not heard any footsteps -before the door creaked open. But I was not afraid long, for the -gowned, slippered old man in the doorway had a bland face that -reassured me; and though he made signs that he was dumb, he wrote a -quaint and ancient welcome with the stylus and wax tablet he -carried.</p> - -<p>He beckoned me into a low, candlelit room with massive exposed -rafters and dark, stiff, sparse furniture of the seventeenth -century. The past was vivid there, for not an attribute was missing. -There was a cavernous fireplace and a spinning-wheel at which a bent -old woman in loose wrapper and deep poke-bonnet sat back toward me, -silently spinning despite the festive season. An infinite dampness -seemed upon the place, and I marveled that no fire should be -blazing. The high-backed settle faced the row of curtained windows -at the left, and seemed to be occupied, though I was not sure. I did -not like everything about what I saw, and felt again the fear I had -had. This fear grew stronger from what had before lessened it, for -the more I looked at the old man’s bland face, the more its very -blandness terrified me. The eyes never moved, and the skin was too -like wax. Finally I was sure it was not a face at all, but a -fiendishly cunning mask. But the flabby hands, curiously gloved, -wrote genially on the tablet and told me I must wait a while before -I could be led to the place of festival.</p> - -<p>Pointing to a chair, table, and pile of books, the old man now left, -the room; and when I sat down to read I saw that the books were -hoary and moldy, and that they included old Morryster’s wild -“Marvels of Science,” the terrible “Saducismus Triumphatus” of -Joseph Glanvil, published in 1681, the shocking “Daemonolatreia” of -Remigius, printed in 1595 at Lyons, and worst of all, the -unmentionable “Necronomicon” of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, in -Olaus Wormius’ forbidden Latin translation: a book which I had never -seen, but of which I had heard monstrous things whispered. No one -spoke to me, but I could hear the creaking of signs in the wind -outside, and the whir of the wheel as the bonneted old woman -continued her silent spinning, spinning.</p> - -<p>I thought the room and the books and the people very morbid and -disquieting, but because an old tradition of my father’s had -summoned me to strange feastings, I resolved to expect queer things. -So I tried to read, and soon became tremblingly absorbed by -something I found in that accursed “Necronomicon”; a thought and a -legend too hideous for sanity or consciousness. But I disliked it -when I fancied I heard the closing of one of the windows that the -settle faced, as if it had been stealthily opened. It had seemed to -follow a whirring that was not of the old woman’s spinning-wheel. -This was not much, though, for the old woman was spinning very hard, -and the aged clock had been striking. After that I lost the feeling -that there were persons on the settle, and was reading intently and -shudderingly when the old man came back booted and dressed in a -loose antique costume, and sat down on that very bench, so that I -could not see him. It was certainly nervous waiting, and the -blasphemous book in my hands made it doubly so. When 11 o’clock -struck, however, the old man stood up, glided to a massive carved -chest in a corner, and got two hooded cloaks, one of which he -donned, and the other of which he draped round the old woman, who -was ceasing her monotonous spinning. Then they both started for the -outer door; the woman lamely creeping, and the old man, after -picking up the very book I had been reading, beckoning me as he drew -his hood over that unmoving face or mask.</p> - -<p>We went out into the moonless and tortuous network of that -incredibly ancient town; went out as the lights in the curtained -windows disappeared one by one, and the Dog Star leered at the -throng of cowled, cloaked figures that poured silently from every -doorway and formed monstrous processions up this street and that, -past the creaking signs and antediluvian gables, the thatched roofs -and the diamond-paned windows; threading precipitous lanes where -decaying houses overlapped and crumbled together, gliding across -open courts and churchyards where the bobbing lanterns made eldritch -drunken constellations.</p> - -<p>Amid these hushed throngs I followed my voiceless guides; jostled by -elbows that seemed preternaturally soft, and pressed by chests and -stomachs that seemed abnormally pulpy; but seeing never a face and -hearing never a word. Up, up, up, the eery columns slithered, and I -saw that all the travelers were converging as they flowed near a -sort of focus of crazy alleys at the top of a high hill in the -center of the town, where perched a great white church. I had seen -it from the road’s crest when I looked at Kingsport in the new dusk, -and it had made me shiver because Aldebaran had seemed to balance -itself a moment on the ghostly spire.</p> - -<p>There was an open space around the church; partly a churchyard with -spectral shafts, and partly a half-paved square swept nearly bare of -snow by the wind, and lined with unwholesomely archaic houses having -peaked roofs and overhanging gables. Death-fires danced over the -tombs, revealing gruesome vistas, though queerly failing to cast any -shadows. Past the churchyard, where there were no houses, I could -see over the hill’s summit and watch the glimmer of stars on the -harbor, though the town was invisible in the dark. Only once in a -while a lantern bobbed horribly through serpentine alleys on its -way to overtake the throng that was now slipping speechlessly into -the church.</p> - -<p>I waited till the crowd had oozed into the black doorway, and till -all the stragglers had followed. The old man was pulling at my -sleeve, but I was determined to be the last. Then finally I went, -the sinister man and the old spinning woman before me. Crossing the -threshold into that swarming temple of unknown darkness, I turned -once to look at the outside world as the churchyard phosphorescence -cast a sickly glow on the hilltop pavement. And as I did so I -shuddered. For though the wind had not left much snow, a few patches -did remain on the path near the door; and in that fleeting backward -look it seemed to my troubled eye that they bore no mark of passing -feet, not even mine.</p> - -<p>The church was scarce lighted by all the lanterns that had entered -it, for most of the throng had already vanished. They had streamed -up the aisle between the high white pews to the trapdoor of the -vaults which yawned loathsomely open just before the pulpit, and -were now squirming noiselessly in. I followed dumbly down the -footworn steps and into the dank, suffocating crypt. The tail of -that sinuous line of night-marchers seemed very horrible, and as I -saw them wriggling into a venerable tomb, they seemed more horrible -still. Then I noticed that the tomb’s floor had an aperture down -which the throng was sliding, and in a moment we were all descending -an ominous staircase of rough-hewn stone; a narrow spiral staircase -damp and peculiarly odorous, that wound endlessly down into the -bowels of the hill, past monotonous walls of dripping stone blocks -and crumbling mortar. It was a silent, shocking descent, and I -observed after a horrible interval that the walls and steps were -changing in nature, as if chiseled out of the solid rock. What -mainly troubled me was that the myriad footfalls made no sound and -set up no echoes. After more eons of descent I saw some side -passages or burrows leading from unknown recesses of blackness to -this shaft of nighted mystery. Soon they became excessively -numerous, like impious catacombs of nameless menace; and their -pungent odor of decay grew quite unbearable. I knew we must have -passed down through the mountain and beneath the earth of Kingsport -itself, and I shivered that a town should be so aged and maggoty -with subterraneous evil.</p> - -<p>Then I saw the lurid shimmering of pale light, and heard the -insidious lapping of sunless waters. Again I shivered, for I did not -like the things that the night had brought, and wished bitterly that -no forefather had summoned me to this primal rite. As the steps and -the passage grew broader, I heard another sound, the thin, whining -mockery of a feeble flute; and suddenly there spread out before me -the boundless vista of an inner world—a vast fungous shore litten -by a belching column of sick greenish flame and washed by a wide -oily river that flowed from abysses frightful and unsuspected to -join the blackest gulfs of immemorial ocean.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>Fainting and gasping, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan -toadstools, leprous fire and slimy water, and saw the cloaked -throngs forming a semicircle around the blazing pillar. It was the -Yule-rite, older than man and fated to survive him; the primal rite -of the solstice and of spring’s promise beyond the snows; the rite -of fire and evergreen, light and music. And in that Stygian grotto I -saw them do the rite, and adore the sick pillar of flame, and throw -into the water handfuls gouged out of the viscous vegetation which -glittered green in the chlorotic glare. I saw this, and I saw -something amorphously squatted far away from the light, piping -noisomely on a flute; and as the thing piped I thought I heard -noxious muffled flutterings in the fetid darkness where I could not -see. But what frightened me most was that flaming column; spouting -volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no -shadows as healthy flame should, and coating the nitrous stone above -with a nasty, venomous verdigris. For in all that seething -combustion no warmth lay, but only the clamminess of death and -corruption.</p> - -<p>The man who had brought me now squirmed to a point directly beside -the hideous flame, and made stiff ceremonial motions to the -semicircle he faced. At certain stages of the ritual they did -groveling obeisance, especially when he held above his head that -abhorrent “Necronomicon” he had taken with him; and I shared all the -obeisances because I had been summoned to this festival by the -writings of my forefathers. Then the old man made a signal to the -half-seen flute-player in the darkness, which player thereupon -changed its feeble drone to a scarce louder drone in another key; -precipitating as it did so a horror unthinkable and unexpected. At -this horror I sank nearly to the lichened earth, transfixed with a -dread not of this nor any world, but only of the mad spaces between -the stars.</p> - -<p>Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of -that cold flame, out of the tartarean leagues through which that -oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped -rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no -sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly -remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, -nor ants, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings, but -something I cannot and must not recall. They flopped limply along, -half with their webbed feet and half with their membranous wings; -and as they reached the throng of celebrants the cowled figures -seized and mounted them, and rode off one by one along the reaches -of that unlighted river, into pits and galleries of panic where -poison springs feed frightful and undiscoverable cataracts.</p> - -<p>The old spinning woman had gone with the throng, and the old man -remained only because I had refused when he motioned me to seize an -animal and ride like the rest. I saw when I staggered to my feet -that the amorphous flute-player had rolled out of sight, but that -two of the beasts were patiently standing by. As I hung back, the -old man produced his stylus and tablet and wrote that he was the -true deputy of my fathers who had founded the Yule worship in this -ancient place; that it had been decreed I should come back; and that -the most secret mysteries were yet to be performed. He wrote this in -a very ancient hand, and when I still hesitated he pulled from his -loose robe a seal ring and a watch, both with my family arms, to -prove that he was what he said. But it was a hideous proof, because -I knew from old papers that that watch had been buried with my -great-great-great-great-grandfather in 1698.</p> - -<p>Presently the old man drew back his hood and pointed to the family -resemblance in his face, but I only shuddered, because I was sure -that the face was merely a devilish waxen mask. The flopping animals -were now scratching restlessly at the lichens, and I saw that the -old man was nearly as restless himself. When one of the things began -to waddle and edge away, he turned quickly to stop it; so that the -suddenness of his motion dislodged the waxen mask from what should -have been his head. And then, because that nightmare’s position -barred me from the stone staircase down which we had come, I flung -myself into the oily underground river that bubbled somewhere to the -caves of the sea; flung myself into that putrescent juice of earth’s -inner horrors before the madness of my screams could bring down upon -me all the charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal.</p> - -<hr class='tb' /> - -<p>At the hospital they told me I had been found half-frozen in -Kingsport Harbor at dawn, clinging to the drifting spar that -accident sent to save me. They told me I had taken the wrong fork of -the hill road the night before, and fallen over the cliffs at Orange -Point—a thing they deducted from prints found in the snow. There was -nothing I could say, because everything was wrong. Everything was -wrong, with the broad window showing a sea of roofs in which only -about one in five was ancient, and the sound of trolleys and motors -in the streets below. They insisted that this was Kingsport, and I -could not deny it.</p> - -<p>When I went delirious at hearing that the hospital stood near the -old churchyard on Central Hill, they sent me to St. Mary’s Hospital -in Arkham, where I could have better care. I liked it there, for the -doctors were broadminded, and even lent me their influence in -obtaining the carefully sheltered copy of Alhazred’s objectionable -“Necronomicon” from the library of Miskatonic University. They said -something about a “psychosis,” and agreed that I had better get my -harassing obsessions off my mind.</p> - -<p>So I read again that hideous chapter, and shuddered doubly because -it was indeed not new to me. I had seen it before, let footprints -tell what they might; and where it was I had seen it were best -forgotten. There was no one—in waking hours—who could remind me of -it; but my dreams are filled with terror, because of phrases I dare -not quote. I dare quote only one paragraph, put into such English as -I can make from the awkward Low Latin.</p> - -<p>“The nethermost caverns,” wrote the mad Arab, “are not for the -fathoming of eyes that see; for their marvels are strange and -terrific. Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly -bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head. Wisely did Ibn -Schacabac say that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and -happy the town at night whose wizards are all in ashes. For it is of -old rumor that the soul of the devil-bought hastes not from his -charnel clay, but fats and instructs <i>the very worm that gnaws</i>; -till out of corruption horrid life springs, and the dull scavengers -of earth wax crafty to vex it and swell monstrous to plague it. -Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to -suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl.”</p> - -<div class='tn'> - <p style='text-indent:0'>Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in - the January 1925 issue of <i>Weird Tales Magazine</i>.</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FESTIVAL ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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