The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants Read online

  The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants

  Ramsey Campbell

  A collection of fantasy and horror short stories by British author J. Ramsey Campbell, who dropped the initial from his name in subsequent publications. It was released in 1964 by Arkham House in an edition of 2,009 copies and was the author's first book. The stories are part of the Cthulhu Mythos. Campbell had originally written his introduction to be included in the book The Dark Brotherhood and Other Pieces under the title "Cthulhu in Britain". However, Arkham's editor, August Derleth, decided to use it here. The contents were reprinted with some of Campbell's later Lovecraftian work in his 1985 collection Cold Print.

  Ramsey Campbell

  The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants

  A Word From The Author

  When I Was Ten Years Old I Discovered H. P. Lovecraft In The Color out of Space, and was profoundly excited and disturbed by his work, and some years later, after I had read considerably more of Lovecraft’s fiction, I turned a bent for writing which began when I was seven toward the Cthulhu Mythos. I wrote five stories in nine months; they were little more than amateurish pastiches of Lovecraft’s tales, but I had courage enough to show some of them to August Derleth, and, had he not considered them promising and encouraged me to carry on, those tales might have remained in the original draft.

  Perhaps even more important, he persuaded me to agree that the Arkham country had been saturated as setting for stories in the Mythos, and that a new milieu for a series of tales might well be originated in Great Britain. He felt certain that even H. P. Lovecraft would approve of such a new setting, and of a sequence of stories taking place there. I considered the Severn Valley a likely milieu. As a Roman-occupied area, it might retain influences of the decadent Roman practises; and some years ago, in the Cotswolds, a supposed witch was executed by persons unknown. With cautious enthusiasm, I set about creating my own towns. Some research was, of course, necessary, and the various towns were not conceived as a whole; their details were added to in each story and so the towns came into being.

  Among the stories thus far written, there are six towns in the area. They do not correspond to the settlements in the Arkham country, except insofar as they represent a conscious attempt to parallel Lovecraft’s Massachusetts towns; they are primarily my attempt to invent a realistic, detailed background to aid in imparting verisimilitude to my fiction.

  Brichester (the Roman 'chester’—castra—with a likely prefix) is the most important of these towns. A large modern city, complete with central office buildings, cinemas, stores, and the like, it yet has its regions of alien influence. It is composed of three sections: Mercy Hill, a raised portion of the town, at the top of which stands a hospital — a one-time prison, while some miles beyond it lies a terribly haunted lake; Central Brichester, an area of offices and large stores; and Lower Brichester, where most trains arrive. In itself, it is a perfectly normal town, and most of the sorcerers living there practise their arts secretly (although there still is a regrettable cult among students at the university), illustrating how underground societies exist in every community.

  Camside, on the bank of the river Cam, is a rather unimportant town between Berkeley and Severnford, once visited by a man intent on seeking out the god Byatis, but otherwise undistinguished. Severnford is part dockland, its buildings mostly shabby and dilapidated, including a cinema and several public-houses; beyond it is an island reputedly used as a meeting place for covens. At the center a group of historic buildings is preserved, among them an inn now closed because of vandalism.

  The remaining towns of the Severn Valley at Brichester are rather less than normal. Clotton (a corruption of Cloth Town) is inhabited by unusually superstitious people. In 1931 it was invaded by malefic aliens. Once a fairly large settlement, Clotton is today too small to appear on most maps, and is widely supposed to be haunted, and is thus much avoided.

  Temphill (Temple Hill — a reference to the town’s being built around a church reported to be other-dimensional) is the only town which is rather completely mapped. It is a small settlement with only one hotel. Most of its buildings are neglected, and its inhabitants seem more interested in old ways, in magic and the outre, than in normal, prosaic life. Temphill is built on a long main road, different portions of which are known under different names — Wood Street, South Street, etc. — ; it crosses a river, and toward the center of town rises to a hill on which is built the famous shunned church.

  Finally, there is Goatswood, the town lying furthest into the Cotswolds. Surrounded by woods, this town contains a little-used railway station and a fairly modern town center; but its inhabitants are reputed to be non-human. Goatswood takes its name from the legend that the god Shub-Niggurath is either imprisoned or has at times made his home in a hill near the town.

  Like most other writers who have ventured to add to Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos, I also invented esoteric volumes to which references could be made. One, The Revelations of Glaaki, was written by members of a cult under the inspiration of the god they worshipped; it was subsequently published in an edition from which many of the more unconventional passages had been cut, now a very rare volume. The other, an untitled and much-banned work by Johannes Pott, was rejected violently by publishers in Jena, circulated in handwritten copies among underground groups, and has never been printed. It contains many repulsive and shocking concepts, among the mildest of which is the theory that all areas of darkness are inhabited by malformed beings.

  The reader will notice that I have frequently resorted to cross- references, not only of settings, but also of events. The reader will observe also that I have not directly utilized the beings of the Lovecraft pantheon, I have but referred to them; for I wished to invent my own, or to clarify inexplicit hints left by Lovecraft and other contributors to the Mythos; I wanted, in sum, to add to the Mythos. I hope that readers of this book will find it possible to conclude that in their own modest way these stories reflect the greater wonder and horror of the masterpieces of H. P. Lovecraft.

  J. Ramsey Campbell

  Liverpool, England

  7 January 1964

  The Room in the Castle

  Is it some lurking remnant of the elder world in each of us that draws us towards the beings which survive from other aeons? Surely there must be such a remnant in me, for there can be no sane or wholesome reason why I should have strayed that day to the old, legend-infected ruin on the hill, nor can any commonplace reason be deduced for my finding the secret underground room there, and still less for my opening of the door of horror which I discovered.

  It was on a visit to the British Museum that I first heard of the legend which suggested a reason for the general avoidance of a hill outside Brichester. I had come to the Museum in search of certain volumes preserved there — not books of demonic lore, but extremely scarce tomes dealing with the local history of the Severn valley, as visualised in retrospect by an 18th-century clergyman. A friend who lived in the Camside region near Berkeley had asked me to look up some historical facts for his forthcoming article in the Camside Observer, which I could impart to him when I began my stay with him that weekend, since he was ill and would not be capable of a London visit for some time. I reached the Museum library with no thoughts other than that I would quickly check through the requisite volumes, note down the appropriate quotations and leave in my car for my destination straight from the Museum.

  Upon entering the lofty-ceilinged room of carefully tended books, I found from the librarian that the volumes I wished to study were at that moment in use, but should soon be returned, if I
cared to wait a short time. To spend this time, I was not interested in referring to any historical book, but instead asked the keeper of the volumes to allow me to glance through the Museum's copy of the almost unobtainable Necronomicon. More than an hour passed in reading it, as best I 'could. Such suggestions concerning what may lie behind the tranquil facade of normality are not easily dismissed from the mind; and I confess that as I read of the alien beings which, according to the author, lurk in dark and shunned places of the world, I found myself accepting what I read as reality. As I pressed deeper into the dark mythos which surrounds those terrors from beyond — bloated Cthulhu, indescribable Shub-Niggurath, vast batrachian Dagon — I might have been sucked into the whirlpool of absolute belief, had my engrossment not been interrupted by the librarian, bearing an armful of yellowed volumes.

  I surrendered the copy of the Necronomicon to him, and so great was the lurking terror that had been aroused in me that I watched to be certain that the book of horror had been locked securely away. Then I turned to the historical volumes I had requested, and began to take notes from the passages in which my friend had expressed interest. As was inevitable, I could not help reading a large proportion of useless matter in my quest for connected material; and it was in a section I had considered useless that my eye noted in passing a reference which was in some way reminiscent of the book I had been reading. At first I thought that my concentration on alien cult-practices had metamorphosed a harmless and quaint country legend into something abnormal and disturbing; but on reading further I realised that this was indeed a rather unconventional legend.

  'Yet be it not thought,' the Berkeley clergyman had written, 'that Satan does not send Trouble betimes to put Fear in those who lived by God. I have heard that Mr Norton was sorely troubl'd by Cries and horrid Roars from the Woods when he liv'd nearby, and that one Night the Drums were so loud that he could not return to his Farming for a Month from then. But, not to burden my Reader, I will recount the Tale of what a Farmer told me not two Years ago.

  'One Night, when I was walking the Road outside Berkeley, Farmer Cooper came upon me out of the Field upon the left Side, much begrimed and filled with Fear at what he had seen. He spoke at first as if his Mind was unsettl'd, as does poor Tom Cooper when he is overcome by his Sickness; but I took him into the Church, and the Presence of God heal'd his Mind. He ask'd if I were willing to hear of the Blasphemous Vision which had come upon him, for he thought that indeed the Divell must have sent a Daemon to turn him from good Christian Ways.

  'He swore that he had chas'd a Fox which had troubl'd his Livestock, hoping that he could end its Nuisance; but it had led him such a Dance around the Properties of Farmers King and Cook that he had lost it, and coming near the River he turn'd homeward. Upon coming to the Crossing over Cambrook Stream which he us'd to take homeward, he was dismay'd to find it smash'd in the Middle. While he was making for the Ford near Corn Lane, he saw upon a Hill a Figure of no little Strangeness. It seem'd to Glow with a Light that did not stay one Colour, but did indeed act like a veritable Kaleidoscope which the Children use in their Play. Farmer Cooper did not like it, but he drew near to the Hill and climb'd until he was nigh unto the horrid object. It was of a clear Mineral, the like of which Fanner Cooper has not seen. When I pray'd him to Tell me of its Appearance, he star'd at me strangely and said that so Evill a Monster was not to be talk'd of by Christian Men. When I press'd him that I must be arm'd against such Daemons by full Knowledge, he said that it had but one Eye like the Cyclops, and had Claws like unto a Crab. He said also that it had a Nose like the Elephants that 'tis said can be seen in Africa, and great Serpent-like Growths which hung from its Face like a Beard, in the Fashion of some Sea Monster.

  'He calls upon the Redeemer to witness that Satan must have taken his Soul then, for he could not stop touching the Claw of the pestilential Image, though he said angelic Voices bade him draw back. Then a huge Shadow cross'd the Moon, and though he determin'd not to look above he saw the horrid Shape cast upon the Ground. I do not Think he blasphem'd in saying that Heaven would not protect me if I heard the Relation of the Shape of that Shadow, for he says that he felt as if God had forgotten his Welfare when he saw it. That was when he fled the Hill, swimming through the Cambrook Stream to escape; and he says that some Thing pursu'd him part of the Way, for he heard the clatter of great Claws on the Ground behind. But he repeat'd the Prayers as he is Wont to do when he fears some Evill, and the Scuttling soon fad'd away. So he had come upon me as I walk'd on the Berkeley Road.

  'I told him to go home and comfort his Wife, and to pray the good Lord would help him against Evills which the Divell might Plan against him to turn him from the Proper Way. That night I pray'd that these terrible Dealings of Satan might soon quit my Parish, and that the Pit might not take the wretch'd Farmer Cooper.'

  Reaching the bottom of this page, I immediately continued on the opposite leaf. But I quickly realised that something was amiss, for the next paragraph treated of something entirely different. Noting the page numbers, I discovered that the page between the two was missing, so that any further references to the alien figure on the hill were unobtainable so far as I was concerned. Since nothing could now be done to rectify this — and, after all, I had come to the Museum originally to look up quite different information — I could only return to my original research. However, a few pages on I noticed an irregularity in the edges of the pages, and on turning to that point I discovered the missing leaf. With a strange feeling of jubilation, I fitted it back into place and continued my interrupted reading.

  'But this is not the end of the Tale of Farmer Cooper. Two months from then, Farmer Norton came to me sorely troubl'd, saying that the Drums in the Woods beat louder than ever before. I could not Console him further than by saying that he must keep his Doors clos'd, and watch for Signs of the Works of Satan. Then came the Wife of Cooper, saying that her Husband had on a sudden been Took ill, for he leap'd up with a Shriek most horrid to hear, and ran away towards the Woods. I did not like to send Men into the Woods when the Drums beat so fierce, but I call'd a Party of the Farmers to go through the Woods, watching for signs of the Divell, and seek Farmer Cooper. This they did, but soon came back and arous'd me, telling a very curious and horrid Tale of why they could not bring poor Cooper back, and why he was assuredly Took by the Divell.

  'Where the Woods grew thickest, they began to hear Drums beating among the Trees, and approached the Sound fearfully, for they knew what the Drums had herald'd before now. When they came upon the Source, they found Fanner Cooper sitting before a huge black Drum, staring as if Mesmeriz'd and beating upon it in a most savage Way, as 'tis said the natives do in Africa. One of the Party, Fanner King, made to speak to Cooper, but look'd behind him and shew'd to the Others what he saw. They swore that behind Cooper was a great Monster, more Horrid even than the toad of Berkeley is relat'd to be, and most Blasphemous in its Shape. It must have been the Monster which serv'd to model the Figure on the Hill, for they say it was somewhat like a Spider, somewhat like a Crab, and somewhat like a Honour in Dreams. Now, seeing the Daemon among the Trees, Farmer King fled, and the Others follow'd him. They had not gone far when they heard a Shriek of great Agony in the voice of Farmer Cooper, and another Sound which was like the Roaring of some great Beast, while the Beating of the black Drum was ceas'd. A few Minutes after then, they heard a Sound of Wings, like the Flapping of a great Bat, which died away in the Distance. They managed to get to Camside Lane, and soon return'd to the Village to tell of the Fate of the wretch'd Cooper.

  'Though this was two Years ago, I do not Doubt that the Daemon still lives, and must roam the Woods in wait for the Unwary. Perhaps it still comes into the Village; for all those who went seeking Fanner Cooper have dream'd of the Monster ever after, and one died not long ago, swearing that some Thing peer'd at the Window and drew his Soul from him. What it is, I do not know. I think it is a Daemon sent from Hell by Satan; but Mr Daniel Jenner, who reads many books of the History
of the Region, says it must be what the Romans found behind a stone Door in a Camp which was here long before the Invasion. At any rate, Prayers against Satan seem to have little Effect on it, so that it must be some Thing far different from the Monsters which are Wont to trouble good Christian Communities. Perhaps it will die if my Flock keep away from the Woods. But I hear strange Rumours that Sir Gilbert Morley, who came to live near Severn Ford some Years ago, counts himself able to Subdue the Divell by Black Arts, and is said to hope that his Blasphemous Dealings may give him Control of the Monster of the Woods.'

  This ended the references to the legendary haunter of the woods, but to me it did not seem likely that this was the only probable legend concerning it. The mention at the last of the attempts of some 18th-century warlock to subdue the being sounded like an indication of some tale of the actual outcome of Morley's experiments, and I could easily spare an hour to search for references for the further myth. Not, of course, that my reading of the Necronomicon had made me credulous about fictitious monsters; but it would be a topic of conversation for when I visited my Camside friend, and perhaps I could even visit the home of Sir Gilbert Morley, if anything remained of the building — and if, indeed, such a person had ever existed.

  Determined to make a search for the legend which, I felt sure, would be recounted somewhere, I had the librarian select aU the volumes which might be of interest to me in my quest. The final selection included Wilshire's The Vale Of Berkeley, Hill's Legendry and Customs of tke Severn Valley, and Sangster's Notes on Witchcraft in Monmouthshire, Gloucestershire and the Berkeley Region. My original research forgotten, I began to peruse the books, not without a shudder at certain passages and illustrations.