Department of Metaphysics


The "Necronomicon" in
H.  P. Lovecraft's Fiction

Selected Passages of Reference




In reference to the cold wastes of Antarctica with its lofty snow mountains and terrible winds, the author notes:  "Something about the scene reminded me of the strange and disturbing Asian paintings of Nicholas Roerich, and of the still stranger and more disturbing descriptions of the evilly fabled plateau of Leng which occur in the dreaded Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred.  I was rather sorry, later on, that I had ever looked into that monstrous book at the college library."

Lake states that the strange frozen corpses he found, based on their bizarre and alien shape: "reminds one of certain monsters of primal myth, especially fabled Elder Things in Necronomicon."  And, "Complete specimens have such uncanny resemblance to certain creatures of primal myth that suggestion of ancient existence outside antarctic becomes inevitable.  Bryer and Pabodie have read Necronomicon and seen Clark Ashton Smith's nightmare paintings based on text, and will understand when I speak of Elder Things supposed to have created all earth life as jest or mistake.  Students have always thought conception formed from morbid imaginative treatment of very ancient tropical radiata.  Also like prehistoric folklore things Wilmarth has spoken of - Cthulhu cult appendages, etc.

The author states:  "Mythologists have placed [the evilly fabled plateau of] Leng in Central Asia; but the racial memory of man - or of his predecessors - is long and it may well be that certain tales have come down from lands and mountains and temples of horror earlier than Asia and earlier than any human world we know.  A few daring mystics have hinted at a pre-Pleistocene origin for the fragmentary Pnakotic Manuscripts, and have suggested that the devotees of Tsathoggua were as alien to mankind as Tsathoggua itself.  Leng, whatever in space or time it might brood, was not a region I would care to be in or near, nor did I relish the proximity of a world that had ever bred such ambiguous and Archaean monstrosities as those Lake had just mentioned.  At the moment I felt sorry that I had ever read the abhorred Necronomicon, or talked so much with that unpleasantly erudite folklorist Wilmarth at the university.

Only the incredible, unhuman massiveness of these vast stone towers and ramparts had saved the frightful thing from utter annihilation in the hundreds of thousands - perhaps millions - of years it had brooded there amidst the blasts of a bleak upland.  "Corona Mundi - Roof of the World -"  All sorts of fantastic phrases sprang to our lips as we looked dizzily down at the unbelievable spectacle.  I thought again of the eldritch primal myths that had so persistently haunted me since my first sight of this dead antarctic world - of the demonic plateau of Leng, of the Mi-Go, or abominable Snow Men of the Himalayas, of the Pnakotic Manuscripts with their pre-human implications, of the Cthulhu cult, of the Necronomicon, and of the Hyperborean legends of formless Tsathoggua and the worse than formless star spawn associated with that semientity.

The author refered to the Old Ones:  "They were the makers and enslavers of that life, and above all doubt the originals of the fiendish elder myths which things like the Pnakotic Manuscripts and the Necronomicon affrightedly hint about.  They were the great "Old Ones" that had filtered down from the stars when earth was young--the beings whose substance an alien evolution had shaped, and whose powers were such as this planet had never bred. And to think that only the day before Danforth and I had actually looked upon fragments of their millennially fossilized substance - and that poor Lake and his party had seen their complete outlines--"

Of the Old Ones biological experiments to produce the Shoggoths, the author states:  "These viscous masses were without a doubt what Abdul Alhazred whispered about as the "Shoggoths" in his frightful Necronomicon, though even that mad Arab had not hinted that any existed on earth except in the dreams of those who had chewed a certain alkaloidal herb."

Again of the Old Ones creation of the Shoggoths:  "The mad author of the Necronomicon had nervously tried to swear that none had been bred on this planet, and that only drugged dreamers had even conceived them."

FROM PAGE 109 - 
As Danforth wandered into madness back in New England, the author states:  "Danforth, indeed, is known to be among the few who have ever dared to go completely through that worm-riddled copy of the Necronomicon kept under lock and key in the college library."


In questioning old Castro about the Cthulhu cult:  "Of the cult, he said that he thought the center lay amid the pathless deserts of Arabia, where Irem, the City of Pillars, dreams hidden and untouched.  It was not allied to the european witch-cult, and was virtually unknown beyond its members.  No book had ever really hinted of it, though the deathless Chinamen said that there were double meanings in the Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred which the initiated might read as they chose, especially the much-discussed couplet:
     "That is not dead which can eternal lie,
     And with strange eons even death may die."


Mr. Merritt, upon visiting the farmhouse laboratory of Joseph Curwen to see his library there:  "Mr. Merritt turned pale when upon taking down a fine volume conspicuously labelled as the Qanoon-e-Islam, he found it was in truth the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, of which he had heard such monstrous things whispered some years previously after the exposure of nameless rites at the strange little fishing village of Kingsport, in the Province of the Massachusetts-Bay."

From a letter by Jedediah Orne of Salem to Joseph Curwen intercepted by the citizens on the post road shortly before the incident of the naked body, copied and preserved in the private archives of the Ward family:

"I delight that you continue in ye getting at Olde Matters in your Way, and doe not thing better was donw at Mr. Hutchinson's in Salem-Village.  Certainely, there was Noth'g butt ye liveliest Awfulness in that which H. rais'd upp from what we cou'd gather onlie a part of.  What you sente did not Worke, whether because Any Thing miss'g, or because ye Wordes were not Righte from my Speak'g or yr copy'g.  Alone am at a Loss.  I have not ye Chymicall art to followe Borellus, and owne my Self confounded by ye VII. Booke of ye Necronomicon that you recommende.  But I wou'd have you Observe what was told to us aboute tak'g Care of Whom to calle up, for you are Sensible what Mr. Mather writ in ye Marignalia of ------, and can judge how truly that Horrendous thing is reported.  I say to you againe, doe not call upp Any that you can not put downe; by the Which I meane, Any that can in Turne call up somewhat against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use.  As of the Lesser, lest the greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall commande more than you.  I was frighted when I read of your know'g what Ben Saristnatmik hadde in his Ebony Boxe, for I was conscious who must have tolde you.  And againe, I ask that you shalle write me as Jedediah and not Simon.  In this Community a Man may not live too long, and you knowe my Plan by which I came back as my Son.  I am desirous you will Acquant me with what ye Blacke Man learnt from Sylvanus Codidius in ye Vault, under ye roman wall, and will be oblig'd for ye Lend'g of ye MS. you speak of."

On the night of the raid on Jospeh Curwen's farmhouse laboratory, a chill wind blew up, the air became suffused with an intolerable stench, and an awful voice thundered out in an unknown tongue.  Luke Fenner set this down to portray the


Providence, 1 May

          My honour'd Antient friende, due Respects and earnest Wishes to Him whom we serve for yr eternall Power.  I am just come upon that which you ought to knowe, concern'g the matter of the Laste Extremitie and what to doe regard'g yt.  I am no dispos'd to followe you in go'g Away on acct. of my yeares, for Providence hath not ye Sharpness of ye Bay in hunt'g oute uncommon Things and bringinge to Tryall.  I am ty'd up in Shippes and Goodes, and cou'd not doe as you did, besides the whiche my farme at Patuxet hat under it That you knowe, that wou'd not waite for my com'g Backe as an Other. 
          But I am not unreadie for harde fortunes, as I have tolde you, and have long work'd upon ye way to get'g Backe after ye Loste.  I laste Nighte strucke on ye Wordes that bringe up YOGGE-SOTHOTHE, and sawe for ye firste Time that face spoke of by Ibn Schacabac in ye------------------.  And IT said, that ye III Psalme in ye Liber-Damnatus holdes y Clavicle.  With Sunne in V House, Saturne in Trine, drawe ye Pentagram of Fire, and saye ye ninth Verse thrice.  this Verse repeate eache Roodemasand Hallow's Eve, and ye thing will breede in ye Outside Spheres.
          And of ye Seede of Olde shal One be borne who shal looke Backe, tho' know'g not what he seekes
          Yett will this awaite Nothing if there be no Heir, and if the Saltes, or the Way to make the Saltes bee no Readie for his Hands.  And here I will onwne, I have not taken needed Stepps nor found Much.  Ye Process is playing harde to come neare, and it uses up such a Store of Specimens, I am harde putte to it to get Enough, notwithstand'g the Sailors I have from the Indies.  Ye People aboute are become curious, but I can stade them off.  Ye gentry are worse than the Populace, be'g more Circumstantiall in their Accts. and more believ'd in what they tell.  that Parson and Mr. Merritt have talk'd some, I am fearfull, but no Thing soe far is Dangerous.  Ye Chymical substance are easie of get'g, there be'g II. goode Chymists in towne, Dr. Bowen and Sam Carew.  I am foll'g oute whot Borellus saith, and have Helpe in Abdool Al-Hazred his VII. Booke.  Whatever I gette, you shal have.  And inye meane while, do not neglect to make use of ye Wordes I have here given.  I have them righte, but if you Desire to see HIM, imploy the Writinge on ye Piece of ----------, that I am putt'g in this Packet.  Saye ye Verses every Roodemas and Hallow's Eve; and if yr Line runn not out, one shall bee in yeares to come that shal looke backe and use what Saltes or Stuff for Saltes you shal leave him.  Job XIV, XIV.
          I rejoice you are again at Salem, and hope I may see you not longe hence.  I have a goode Stallion, and am think'g of get'g a Coach, there be'g one (Mr. Merritt's) in Providence alreadie, tho', ye Rhoades are bad.  If you are dispos'd to travel, doe not pass me bye.  From Boston take ye Poste Rd. thro' Dedham, Wrentham, and Attleborough, goode Taverns be'g at all these Townes.  Stop at Mr. Bolcom's in Wrentham, where ye Beddes are finer than Mr. Hatch's, but eate at ye other House for their cooke is better.  Turne into Providence by Pawtuxet falls, and ye rd. past Mr. Sayles's Tavern.  My House opp, Mr. Epenetus Olney's Tavern off ye Towne Street, ist on ye N. side of Olney's Court, Distance from Boston abt. XLIV miles. 
          Sir, I am yr olde and true friend and Servt. in Almonsin-Metraton.
     Josephus C.

To Mr. Simon Orne,
William's Lane, in Salem.

...Late in the afternoon young Ward began repeating a certain formula...  ...It ran as follows, and experts have told Dr. Willett that its very close analogue can be found in the mystic writings of "Eliphas Levi", that cryptic soul who crept through a crack in the forbidden door and glimpsed the frightful vistas of the void beyond:
"Per Adonai Eloim, Adonai Jehova,
Adonai Saboath, Metraton Ou Agla Methon,
verbum pythonicum, mysterium salamandrae,
cenventus sylvorum, antra gnomorum,
daemonia Coeli God, Almonsin, Gibor,
Jehosua, Evam, Sariathnatmik, Veni, veni, veni."
...a pandemonia howling of dogs set in.  ...it was overshadowed by the odour which instantly followed it; a hideous all-pervasive odour which none of them had ever smelt before or have ever smelt since.  In the midst of this mephitic flood there came a very perceptible flash like that of lightning, which would have been blinding and impressive but for the daylight around; and then was heard the voice that no listener can ever forget because of its thunderous remoteness, its incredible depth, and its eldritch dissimilarity to Charles Ward's voice.  It shook the house, and was clearly heard by at least two neighbors above the howling of the dogs....  ...There was no mistaking that nightmare phrase, for Charles had described it too vividly in the old days when he had talked frankly of his Curwen investigations.  And yet it was only this fragment of an archaic and forgotten language: "DIES MIES JESCHET BOENE DOESEF DOUVEMA ENITEMAUS."
               Close upon this thundering there came a monentary darknening of the daylight, though sunset was still an hour distant, though sunset was still an hour distant, and then a puff of added odour, different from the first but equally unknown and intolerable.  Charles was chanting again now and his mother could hear syllables that sounded like "Yi-nash-Yog-Sothoth-he-lglb-fi-throdag"--ending with a "Yah!" whose maniacal force mounted in an ear-splitting crescendo.  A second later all previous memories were effaced by the wailing scream which burst out with frantic explosiveness and gradually changed form to a paroxysm of diabolic and hysterical laughter. 

In this new material one mystic formula, or rather pair of formulae, recurred so often that Willett had it by hear before he had half finished his quest.  It consisted of two parallel columns, the left-hand one surmounted by the archaic symbol called "Dragon's Head" and used in almanacks to indicate the ascending node, and the right-hand one headed by a corresponding sign of "Dragon's Tail" or descending node.  The appearance of the whole was something like this, and almost unconsciously the doctor realised that the second half was no more than the first written syllabically backward with the exception of


The right-hand wall was no less thickly inscribed, and Willet felt a start of recognition as he came upon the pair of formulae so frequently ocurring in the rectn notes in the library.  They were, roughly speaking, the same:  with the ancient symbols of "Dragon's Head" and "Dragon's Tail" heading them as in Ward's scribblings.  But the spelling differed quite widely from that of the modern versions, as if old Curwen had had a different way of recording sound, or as if later study had evloved more powerful and perfected variants of the invocations in question. The doctor tried to reconcile the chiselled version with the one which still ran persistently in his head, and found it hard to do. Where the script he had memorised began "Y'ai 'ng'ngah, Yog-Sothoth", this epigraph started out as "Aye, engengah, Yogge-Sothotha"; which to his mind would seriously interfere with the syllabification of the second word. 


FROM PAGE 359 - 
So matters went till that night when Williams brought home the infamous Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred.  He had known of the dreaded volume since his sixteenth year, when his dawning love of the bizarre led him to ask queer questions of a bent old bookseller in Chandos Street; and he had always wondered why men paled when they spoke of it.  The old bookseller had told him that only five copies were known to have survived shocked edicts of the priests and lawgivers against it and that all of these were locked up with frightful care by custodians who had ventured to begins a reading of the hateful black-letter.  But now, at last, he had not only found an accessible copy but had made it his own at a ludicrously low figure.  It was at a Jew's shop in the squalid precincts of Clare Market, where he had often brought strange things before, and he almost fancied the gnarled old Levite smiled amidst the tangles of beard as the great discovery was made.  The bulky leather cover with the brass clasp had been so prominently visible, and the price so absurdly low.


FROM PAGE 139 - 
Possibly Gilman ought not to have studied so hard.  Mon-Euclidean calculus and quantum physics are enough to stretch any brain; and when one mixes them with folklore, and tries to trace a strange background of multi-dimensional reality
behind the ghoulish hints of Gothic tales and the wild whispers of the chimney-corner, one can hardly expect to be wholly free from mental tension.  Gilman came from Haverhill, but it was only after he had entered college in Arkham that he began to connect his mathematics with the fantastic legends of elder magic.  Something in the air of the hoary town worked obscurely on his imagination.  The professors at Miskatonic had urged him to slacken up, and had voluntarily cut down his course at several points.  Moreover, they had stopped him from consulting the dubious old books on forbidden secrets that were kept under lock and key in a vault at the university library.  But all these precautions came late in the day, so that Gilman had some terrible hints from the dreaded Necronomicon of Abdul Alhazred, the fragmentary Book of Eibon, and the suppressed Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt to correlate with his abstract formulae on the properties of space and the linkage of dimensions known and

FROM PAGE 150 - 
The dreams were meanwhile getting to be atrocious.  In the lighter preliminary phase the evil old woman was now of fiendish distinctness, and Gilman knew she was the one who had frightened him in the slums.  Her bent back, long nose,
and shrivelled chin were unmistakable, and her shapeless brown garments were like those he remembered.  The expression on her face was one of hideous malevolence and exultation, and when he awaked he could recall a croaking voice that persuaded and threatened.  He must meet the Black Man and go with them all to the throne of Azathoth at the center of ultimate chaos.  That was what she said.  he must sign the book of Azathoth in his own blood and take a new secret name no that his independent delvings had gone so far.  What kept him from going with her and Brown Jenkin and the other to the throne of Chaos where the tin flutes pipe mindlessly was the fact that he had seen the name "Azathoth" in the Necronomicon, and knew it stood for a primal evil too horrible for description.

FROM PAGE 159 - 
As he bathed and changed clothes he tried to recall what he had dreamed after the scene in the violet-litten space, but nothing definite would crystalize in his mind.  That scene itself must have corresponded to the sealed loft overhead, which had begun to attack his imagination so violently, but later impressions were faint and hazy.  There were suggestions of the vague, twilight abysses, and of still vaster, blacker abysses beyond them--abysses in which all fixed suggestions were absent.  He had been taken there by the bubble-congeries and the little polyhedron which always dogged him; but they, like himself, had changed to wisps of mist in this farther void of ultimate blackness.  Something else had gone on ahead--a larger wisp which now and then condensed into nameless approximations of forms--and he thought that their progress had not been in a straight line, but rather along the alien curves and spirals of some ethereal vortex which obeyed laws unknown to the physics and mathematics of any conceivable cosmos.  Eventually there had been a hint of vast, leaping shadows, of a monstrous, half-acoustic pulsing, and of the thin, monotonous piping of an unseen flute--but that was all.  Gilman decided he had picked up that last conception from what he had read in the Necronomicon about the mind-less entity Azathoth, which rules all time and space from a black throne at the center of Chaos.

FROM PAGE 164 - 
Whether anybody had ever managed to do this, one could hardly conjecture with any degree of authority.  Old legends are hazy and ambiguous, and in historic times all attempts at crossing forbidden gaps seem complicated by strange and terrible alliances with beings and messengers from outside.  There was the immemorial figure of the deputy or messenger of hidden and terrible powers--the "Black Man" of the witch-cult, and the "Nyarlathotep" of the Necronomicon.  There was, too, the baffling problem of the lesser messengers or intermediaries -- the quasi-animals and queer hybrids which legend depicts as witches' familiars.  As Gilman and Elwood retired, too sleepy to argue further, they heard Joe Mazurewicz reel into the house half drunk, and shuddered at the desperate wildness of his whining prayers.

FROM PAGE 168 - 
Late at night the two youths sat drowsing in their chairs, lulled by the praying of the loom-fixer on the floor below.  Gilman listened as he nodded, his preternaturally sharpened hearing seeming to strain for some subtle, dreaded murmur beyond the noises in the ancient house.  Unwholesome recollections of things in the Necronomicon and the Black Book welled up, and he found himself swaying to infandous rhythms said to pertain to the blackest ceremonies of the Sabbat and to have an origin outside the time and space we comprehend.

FROM PAGE 169 - 
But all this vanished in a second.  He was again in the cramped, violet-litten peaked space with the slanting floor, the low cases of ancient books, the bench and table, the queer objects, and the triangular gulf at one side.  On the table lay a small white figure--an infant boy, unclothed and unconscious--while on the other side stood the monstrous, leering old woman with a gleaming, grotesque-hafted knife in her right hand, and a queerly proportioned pale metal bowl covered with curiously chased designs and having delicate lateral handles in her left.  She was intoning some  croaking ritual in a language which Gilman could not understand, but which seemed like something guardedly quoted in the Necronomicon.


Nor is it to be thought that man is either 
     the oldest or the last of earth's masters, 
     or that the common bulk of life and substance walks alone. 
The Old Ones were, 
     the Old Ones are, 
     and the Old Ones shall be. 
Not in the spaces we know, but between them, 
     they walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen. 
Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. 
Yog-Sothoth is the gate. 
Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. 
Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. 
He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, 
     and where They shall break through again. 
He knows where They had trod earth's fields, 
     and where They still tread them, 
     and why no one can behold Them as They tread. 
By Their smell can men sometimes know Them near, 
     but of Their semblance can no man know, 
     saving only in the features of those 
     They have begotten on mankind;
     and of those are there many sorts, 
     differing in likeness from man's truest eidolon 
     to that shape without sight or substance which is Them
They walk unseen and foul in lonely places 
     where the Words have been spoken 
     and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. 
The wind gibbers with Their voices, 
     and the earth mutters with Their consciousness. 
They bend the forest and crush the city, 
     yet may not forest or city behold the hand that smites. 
Kadath in the cold waste hath known Them, 
     and what man knows Kadath? 
The ice desert of the South and the sunken isles of Ocean 
     hold stones whereon Their seal is engraver, 
     but who bath seen the deep frozen city 
     or the sealed tower long garlanded with seaweed and barnacles? 
Great Cthulhu is Their cousin, yet can he spy Them only dimly. 
Iä! Shub-Niggurath! 
As a foulness shall ye know Them. 
Their hand is at your throats, yet ye see Them not; 
     and Their habitation is even one with your guarded threshold. 
Yog-Sothoth is the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet. 
Man rules now where They ruled once; 
They shall soon rule where man rules now. 
After summer is winter, after winter summer. 
They wait patient and potent, 
     for here shall They reign again.

     --A quote from the Necronomicon, cited in "The Dunwich Horror." 

FROM PAGE 167 - 
"More space, Willy, more space soon.  Yew grows--an' that grows faster.  It'll be ready to sarve ye soon, boy.  Open up the gates to Yog-Sothoth with the long chant that ye'll find on page 751 of the complete edition, an' then put a match to the prison.  Fire from airth can't burn it nohaow."

FROM PAGE 169 - 
The following winter brought an event no less strange than Wilbur's first trip outside the Dunwich region.  Correspondence with the Widener Library at Harvard, the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris, the British Museum, the University of Buenos Ayres, and the Library of Miskatonic University of Arkham had failed to get him the loan of a book he separately wanted; so at length he set out in person, shabby, dirty, bearded, and uncouth of dialect, to consult the copy at Miskatonic, which was the nearest to him geographically.  Almost eight feet tall, and carrying a cheap new valise from Osborn's general store, this dark and goatish gargoyle appeared one day in Arkham in quest of the dreaded volume kept under lock and key at the college library--the hideous Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred in Olaus Wormius's Latin version, as printed in Spain in the seventeenth century.  He had never seen a city before, but had no thought save to find his way to the university grounds; where, indeed, he passed heedlessly by the great white-fanged watchdog that barked with unnatural fury and enmity, and tugged frantically at its stout chain. 
          Wilbur had with him the priceless but imperfect copy of Dr. Dee's English version which his grandfather had bequeathed him, and upon receiving access to the Latin copy he at once began to collate the two texts with the aim of discovering a certain passage which would have come on the 751st page of his own defective volume.  This much he could not civilly refrain from telling the librarian--the same erudite Henry Armitage (A.M. Miskatonic, Ph. D. Princeton, Litt. D. Johns Hopkins) who had once called at the farm, and who know politely plied him with questions.  He was looking, he had to admit, for a kind of formula or incantation containing the frightful name Yog-Sothoth, and it puzzled him to find discrepancies, duplications, and ambiguities which made the matter of determination far from easy.  As he copied the formula he finally chose, Dr. Armitage looked involuntarily over his shoulder at the open pages; the left-hand one of which, in the Latin version, contained such monstrous threats to the peace and sanity of the world.

"Nor is it to be thought," ran the text as Armitage mentally translated it, "that man is either the oldest or the last of earth's masters, or that the common bulk of life and substance walks alone.  The Old Ones were, the Old Ones shall be.  Not in the spaces we know, but between them, They walk serene and primal, undimensioned and to us unseen. Yog-Sothoth is the gate.  Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate.  Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again.  He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.  By Their smell can men sometimes know Them near, but of Their semblance can no man know, saving only in the features of those They have begotten on mankind; and of those are there many sorts, differing in likeness from man's truest eidolon to that shape without sight or substance which is Them.  They walk unseen and foul in the lonely places where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons.  The wind gibbers with Their voices, and the earth mutters with Their consciousness.  they bend the forest and crush the city, yet may not forest and city behold the hand that smites.  Kadath in the cold waste hath known Them, and what man knows Kadath?  The ice desert of the South and the sunken isles of Ocean hold stones whereon Their seal is engraven, but who hath seen the deep frozen city or the sealed tower long garlanded with seaweed and barnacles?  Great Cthulhu is Their cousin, yet can he spy Them only dimly.  Ia! Shub-Niggurath!  As a foulness shall ye know Them.  Their hand is at your throats, yet ye see Them not; and Their habitation is even one with your guarded threshold.  Yog-Sothoth is the key to the gate, whereby the spheres meet.  Man rules now where They ruled once; They shall soon rule where man rules now.  After summer is winter, and after winter summer.  they wait patient and potent, for here shall They reign again."
FROM PAGE 171 - 
Armitage heard the savage yelping of the great watch-dog, and studied Whateley's gorilla-like lope as he crossed the bit of campus visible from the window.  He thought of the wild tales he had heard, and recalled the old Sunday stories in the Advertiser; these things and the lore he had picked up from the Dunwich rustics and villagers during his one visit there.  Unseen things not of earth--or at least not of tri-dimensional earth--rushed foetid and horrible through New England's glens, and brooded obscnely on the mountin-tops.  Of this he had long felt certain.  Now he semed to sense the close presence of some terrible part of the intruding horror, and to glimpse a hellish advance in the black dominion of the ancient and once
passive nightmare.  He locked away the Necronomicon with a shudder of disgust, but the room still reeked with an unholy and unidentifiable stench.  "As a foulness shall ye know them," he quoted.  Yes--the odour was the same as that which had sickened him at the Whateley farmhouse less then three years before.  He thought of Wilbur, goatish and ominous, once again, and laughed mockingly at the village rumours of his parentage. 
          "Inbreeding?" Armitage muttered half-aloud to himself.  "Great God, what simpletons!  Shew them Arthur Machen's Great God Pan and they'll think it a common Dunwich scandal!  But what things--what cursed shapeless influence on or off this three-dimensioned earth--was Wilbur Whateley's father?  Born on Candlemas--nine months after May-eve of 1912, when the talk about the queer earth noises reached clear to Arkham--  What walked on the mountains that May-Night?  What Roodmas horror fastened itself on the world in half-human flesh and blood?" 
          During the endsuing weeks Dr. Armitage set about to collect all possbiel data on Wilbur Whateley and the formless prescences around Dunwich.  He got in communication with Dr. Houghton of Aylesbury, who had attended Old Whateley in his last illness, and found much to ponder over in the grandfather's last words as quoted by the physician.  A visit to Dunwich Village failed to brings out much that was new; but a close survey of the Necronomicon, in those parts which Wilbur had sought so avidly, seemed to supply new and terrible clues to the nature, methods, and desires of the strange evil so vaguely threatening this planet.  Talks with several students of archaic lore in Bonston, and letters to many others elesewhere, gave him a growning amazement which passed slowly through varied degrees of alarm to a state of really acute spiritual fear.  As the summer drew on he felt dimly that something outght to be done about the lurking terrors of the upper Miskatonic valley, and about the monstrous being know to the human world as Wilbur Whateley.


          The Dunwich horror itself came between Lammas and the equinox in 1928, and Dr. Armiatge was among those who witnessed its monstrous prologue.  He had heard, meanwhile, of Whateley's gortesque trip to Cambridge, and of his frantic efforts to borrow or copy from the Necronomicon at the Widener Library.  Those efforts had been in vain, since Armitage had issued warnings of the keenest itensity to all librarians having charge of the dreaded volume.  Wilbur had been shockingly nervous at Cambridge; anxious for the book, yet almost equally anxious to get home agin, as if he feared the results of being away long.

FROM PAGE 188 - 
A cold shudder ran though natives and visitors alike, and every ear seemed trained in a kind of instinctive, unconscious listening.  Armitage, now that he had actually come upon the horror and its mosntrous work, trembled with the responsibility he felt to be his.  Night would soon fall, and it was then that the mountainous blasphemy lumbered upon its eldrich course.  Negotium perambulans in tenebris. . . .  The old librarian rehearsed the farmulae he had memorised, and clutched
the paper containing the alternative one he had not memorised.  He saw that his electric flahslight was in working order.  Rice, beside him, took from a valise a metal sprayer of the sort used in combating insects; whilst Morgan uncased the big-game rifle on which he relied despite his colleague's warnings that no material weapon would be of help. 


The nethermost caverns, 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 Schacabao say, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, 
    and happy the town at night whose wizards are all ashes. 
For it is of old rumour 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 psrings 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.

     --A quote from the Necronomicon, cited in "The Festival." 

FROM PAGE 213 - 
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 Marvells 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's 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 wcould 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 fathers had summoned me to strange feastings, I resolved to expect queer things.  So I tried to read, and soon became tramblingly absorbed by something I found in that accursed Necronomicon; a thought and a legend too hideous for sanity or consciousness.  But I dislike it when I fancied I heard the closing of one of the windows that the settled 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 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 dresssed 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. 

FROM PAGE 214 - 
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 grovelling 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-layer in the darkness, which player there upon changed its feelbe 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 unimagainable 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 decomposing human beings; but somethng I cannot and must not reacall.  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 undescoverable cataracts.

FROM PAGE 216 - 
I liked it there (St. Mary's Hospital in Arkham), for the doctors were broad-minded, 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 I had better get any 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 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 Schacabao say, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and happy the town at night whose wizards are all ashes.  For it is of old runour 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 psrings 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."


FROM PAGE 100 - 
In the rear of the vestry room beside the apse Blake found a rotting desk and ceiling-high shelves of mildewed, disintegrating books.  Here for the first time he received a postiibe shock of objective horror, for the titles of those books told him much.  They were the BREAKPOINT (???) lck, forbidden things which most sane people have never even heard of, or have heard of only in furtive, timorous whispers; the banned and dreaded repositories of equivocl secrets and immemorial formulae which have trickled down the stream of time from the days of man's youth, and the dim, fabulous days before man was.  He had himself read many of them--a latin version of the abhorred Necronomicon, the sinister Liber Ivoris, the infamous Cultes des Goules of Comte d'Erlette, the Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, and old Ludvig Prinn's hellish De Vermis Mysteriis.  But there were other he had known merely by reputation or not at all--the Pnakotic Manuscripts, the Book of Dzyan, and a crumbling volume in wholly unidentifiable characters characters yet with certain symbols and diagrams shudderingly recognisable to the occult student.  Clearly, the lingering lcoal rumours had not lied. This place had once been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known universe.


FROM PAGE 174 - 
immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave.  even had its outines been unfamiliar we would have desire it, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.  Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which same and balanced readers know, but we recognised it as the thing hinted of in the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the corpse eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.  All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from sone obscure supernatural manifestation of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the dead.

FROM PAGE 175 - 
Less than a week after our return to England, stange things began to happen.  We lived as recluses' devoid of friends, alone, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the knock of the visitor.  Now, however, we were troubled by what seemed to be frequent fumblings in the night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as welll as lower.  Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shinging against it, and another time we thought weheard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.  On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we begn to ascrbie the occurrences to imagination alone--that same curiously disturbng imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we thought we had heard in the Holland churchyard.  The jade amulet no reposed in a niche in our museum, and sometimes we burned strangely scented candles before it.  We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and about the relation of ghoul's souls to the objects it symbolised; and were disturbed by what we read.  Then terror came.


FROM PAGE 106 -  Remote in the desert of Araby lies the nameless city, crumbling and inarticualte, its low walls nearly hidden by the sands of uncounted ages.  It must have been thus before the tirst stones of Memphis were laid, and while the bricks of Babylon were yet unbaked.  There is no legend so old as to give it a name, or to recall that it was ever alive; but it is told of in whispers around campfires and muttered about by grandams in the tents of sheiks so that all the tribes shun it without wholly knowing why.  It was of this place that Abdul Alhazred the mad poet dreamed of the night before he sang his unexplained couplet:

That is not dead which can eteral lie,
And with strange aeons death may die.
I should have know that the Arabs had good reason for shunning the namless city, the city told of in strange tales but seen by no living man, yet I defied them and went into the untrodden waste with my camel.  I alone have seen it, and that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear as mine; why no other man shivers so horribly when the night wind rattles the windows.  When I came upon it in the ghastly stillness of unending sleep it looked at me, chilly from the rays of a cold moon amidst the desert's heat.  And as I returned its look I forgot my triumph at fiding it, and stopped still with my camel to wait for the dawn.

FROM PAGE 118 -  More and more madly poured the shrieking, moaning night wind into the gulf of the inner earth.  I dropped prone again and clutched vainly at the floor for fear of being swept bodily through the open gate into the phophorescent abyss.  Such fury I had not expected, and as I grew aware of an actual slipping of my form toward the abyss I was beset by a thousand new terrors of apprehension and imagination.  The malignancy of the blast awakened incredible fancies; once more I compared myself shudderingly to the only human image in tht frightful corridor, the man who was torn to pieces by the nameless race, for in the fiendish clawing of the swirling currents there seemed to abide a vindictive rage all the stronger because it was largeley impotent.  I think I screamed frantically near the last--I was almost mad--of the howling wind-wraiths.  I tried to crawl against the murderous invisible torent, but I could not even hold my own as I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the unknown world.  Finally reason must have wholly snapped; for I fell babbling over and over that unexplainable couplet of the mad Arab Alhazred, who dreamed of the nameless city:

That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.


FROM PAGE 161 - 
Other ugly reports concenring my intimacy with leaders of occultist groupds, and scholars suspected of connection with nameless bands of abhorrent elder-world hierophants.  These rumors, though never proved at the time, were doubtless
stimulated by the known tenor of some of my reading--for the consultation of rare books at libraries cannot be effected secretly.
          There is tangible proof--in the form or marginal notes--that I went minutely through such things as the Comte d'Erlette's Cultes des Goules, Ludwig Prinn's De Vermis Mysteriis, the Unasussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, the surviving fragments of the puzzling Book of Eibon, and the dreaded Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred.  Then, too, it is undeiable that a fresh and evil wave of underground cult activity set in about the time of my odd mutation.

FROM PAGE 176 -  Of all things surviving physically and directly from that aeon-distant world, there remained only certain ruins of great stones in far places and under the sea, and parts of the text of the frightful Pnakotic Manuscripts. 
          Thus the returning mind reached its own age with only the faintest and most fragmentary vision of what it had undergone since its seizure.  All memories that could be eradicated were eradicated, so that in most cases only a dream-shadowed black stretched back to the time of the first exchange.  Some minds recalled more than others, and the chance joining of memories had at rare times brought hints of forbidden past and future ages. 
          There probably never was a time when groups or cults did not secretly cherish certin of these hints.  In the Necronomicon the presence of such a cult among human beings was suggested--a cult that sometimes gave aid to minds voyaging down the aeons from the days of the Great Race.


FROM PAGE 279 - 
What he did do was to become an almost fanatical devotee of subrerranean magical lore, for which Miskatonic's library ws and is famous.  Always a dweller on the surface of phantasy and strangeness, he now delved deep into the actual runes and riddles left by a fabulous past for the guidance or puzzlement of posterity.  He read things like the frightful Book of Eibon, and the Unaussprechlichen Kulten of von Junzt, and the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, though he did not tell his parents he had seen them.  Edward was twenty when my son and only child was born, and seemed pleased when I named the newcomer Edward Derby Upton, after him.

FROM PAGE 289 - 
"Dan, Dan, don't you remember him--the wild eyes and the unkempt beard that never turned white?  He glared at me one, and I never forgot it.  Now she glares that way.  And I know why!  He found it in the Necronomicon--the formula.  I
don't dare tell you the page yet, but when I do you can read and understand.  Then you will what had engulfed me.  On, on, on, on--body to body to body--he means neer to die.  The life-glow--he knows how to break the link. . .  it can flicker on a while even when the body is dead.  I'll give you hints, and maybe you'll guess.  Listen, Dan--do you know why my wife always takes such pains with that silly backhand writing?  Have you ever seen a manuscript of old Ephraim's?  Do you want to know why I shivered when I saw some hasty notes Asenath had jotted down?


FROM PAGE 181 - 
By the time the rite was over, Carter knew that he was in no region whose place could be told by Earth's geographers, and in no age whose date history coudl fix; for the nature of what was happening was not wholly unfamiliar to him.  There were hints of it in the cryptical Pnakotic fragments, and a whole chapter in the fordibben Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, had taken on significance when he had deciphered the designs graven on the silver key.  A gate had been unlocked--not, indeed, the Ultimate Gate, but one leading from Earth and time to that extension of Earth which outside time, and from which in turn the Ultimate Gate leads fearsomely and perilously to the Last Void which is outside all earths, all universes, and all matter.
        There would a Guide--and a very terrible one; a Guide who had been an intity on Earth millions of years before, when man was undreamed of, and when forgotten shapes moved on a steaming planet building strange cities among those last, crumbling ruins BREAKPOINT (ED. MISSING WORDS?) the first mammals were to play.  Carter remembered what the monstrous Necronmicon had vaguely and disconcertingy adumbrated concerning that Guide:

"And while there are those," the mad Arab had written, "who have dared to seek glimpses beyond the Veil, and to accept HIM as guide, they would have been more prudent had they avoided commerce with HIM; for it is written in the Book of Thoth how terrific is the price of a single glimpse.  Mor may those who pass ever return, for in the vastness transcending our world are shapes of darkness that seize and bind.  The Affair that shambleth about in the night, the evil that defieth the Elder Sign, the Herd that stand watch at the secret portal each tomb is known to have and that thrive on that which groweth out of the tenants thereof:--all these Blacknesses are lesser than HE WHO guardeth the Gateway: HE WHO will guide the rash one beyond all the world into the Abyss of unnamable devourers.  For He is 'UMR AT-TAWIL, the Most Ancient One, which the scribe rendereth as THE PROLONGED OF LIFE."

FROM PAGE 183 -  A moment later Carter knew that this was so, for the Shape had spoken to his mind without sound or language.  And though the name it uttered was a dreaded and terrible one, Randolph Carter did not flinch in fear.  Instead, he spoke back, equally without sound or language, and made those obeisances which the hideous Necronomicon had taught him to make.  For this shape was nothing less than that which all the world has feared since Lomar rose out of the sea, and the Children of the Fire Mist came to Earth to each the Elder Lore to man.  It was indeed the frightful Guide and Guardian of the Gate--'UMR AT-TAWIL, the ancient one, which the scribe rendereth the PROLONGED OF LIFE.


by Zealia Bishop and H.P. Lovecraft

 "Denis might have whispered more, but a fresh burst of distant wailing cut us short.  For the first time we knew what it was, for a westerly veering wind brought articulate words at last.  We ought to have known long before, since sounds much like it had often come from the same source.  It was wrinkled Sophonisba, the ancient Zulu witch-woman who had fawned on Marceline, keening from her cabin in a way which crowned the horros of this nightmare tragedy.  We could both hear some of the things she howled, and knew that secret and primordial bonds linked this savage sorceress with that other inheritor of elder secrets who had just been extirpated.  Some of the words she used betrayed her closeness to daemonic and palaeogean traditions.
          "'Iä! Iä!  Shub-Niggurath!  Ya-R'lyeh!  N'gagi n'bulu bwana n'lolo!  Ya, yo, pore Missy Tanit, pore Missy Isis!  Marse Clooloo, come up outen de water an' git yo chile--she sone daid!  She done daid!  De hair ain' got no missus no mo', Marse Clooloo.  Ol' Sophy, she know!  Ol' Sophy, she done got de black stone outen Big Zimbabwe in ol' Affriky!  Ol' Sophy, she done dance in de moonshine roun' de crocodile-stone befo' de N'bangus corch her and sell her to de ship folks!  No mo' Tanit!  No mo' Isis!  No mo' witch-woman to keep de fire a-goin' in de big stone place!  Ya, yo!  N'gagi n'bulu bwana n'lolo!  Iä!  Shub-Niggurath!  She daid!  Ol' Sophy know!"

Copyright © 2002 Miskatonic University Press/ yankeeclass.com, all rights reserved