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To be precise, three typed manuscripts which together tell a single tale. They are of some antiquity, perhaps a century old, and at a cursory glance purport to have been written by none other than Dr John Watson, a literary figure with whose oeuvre you have a more than nodding acquaintance, to judge by your own recent published output. They were discovered at the back of a closet in Mr Lovecraft’s bedroom, inside a rusty strongbox.
Oh ho, so the tradition continues... Liking the lore here
one scion of the dynasty became involved with a cult of demon-raising black-magic practitioners, went mad, and essentially bequeathed his fellow acolytes all his worldly wealth, thereafter living out his final days in an insane asylum, the proverbial gibbering wreck.
Ok so eldritch madness gotcha
His less wholesome personal attributes – principally his racism, a disgust for non-Anglo-Saxon cultures often expressed in his journalism and private correspondence
...lovecraft's poor poor cat
To banish the shadows, too, for I know all too well what shadows may hide within their dark folds.
Good ol' sleep paralysis demons
“THE MOST MERCIFUL THING IN THE WORLD, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.”
But man, the corkboard of my mind sure tries
