Confident I was now on the right track, I followed the prints into the darkness, finally coming up against a great stone wall which was clearly the boundary of the foundations.

Set in it was a ma.s.sive metal door and I saw that both sets of prints led up to it and vanished. In the lock was the metal key covered with the weird hieroglyphs. Evidently, Ambrose had taken it from the desk where I had posted for safekeeping. Somehow, he had guessed at its purpose. There was an iron ring just above the lock and I grasped it firmly with one hand and pulled with all my strength. The door opened reluctantly as if it were seldom used.

I had thought to see darkness before me, perhaps another room ab.u.t.ting onto the cellars. Instead, shock and horror paralysed me, held me rooted there, gripped in a frenzy of hallucinatory delirium. I must now choose words with great care for in that horror-filled moment I saw everything; knew why there were never any records of the deaths of my ancestors, nor any trace of their earthly remains.

I realised, in a cataclysm of superst.i.tious fear, the nature of the time measured by that unimaginably old clock whose origins lay in the legend-shrouded aeons of time, marking off the hours remaining to each of the Dexters and-by some terrible quirk of fate-poor Ambrose as well. And most terrible of all, the true ident.i.ty of that mighty river whose nearer sh.o.r.e lay immediately below the Dexter mansion.

My condition as I stood teetering on the brink of that illimitable cavern was one of indescribable mental tumult. Before me an endless flight of steps lead down to the black swirling waters of the great river that ran into a far distance, towards an unseen cataract where it thundered down into abyssal depths, lit by the lurid glare of h.e.l.lfires pouring up from below.

All this I saw in a single mind-searing glance. But there was more than that. Would to G.o.d I had turned and fled back through those noisome cellars before witnessing the final scene. But see it I did and the unbelievable horror and its implications will haunt me for the remainder of my days.

Far, far below me I made out the diminutive figure of Michael Ambrose standing like a man in a dream on the bank of the river. I tried to call his name but nothing more than a feeble croak emerged from my shaking lips. And then, out of the swirling mist that formed a curtain across the foreground, exactly as I had seen it in my dream, something black appeared, heading for the very spot where he stood.

Gliding to the bank, the ebon boat grounded there and the hooded boatman held out a hand to Ambrose. I saw my former companion hand him something which shone yellow in the dim radiance and knew it to be the curious coin which had fallen from behind my uncle's portrait and which I had unwittingly, given to Ambrose. A coin that had no value in this world but was the tribute paid to Charon in return for ferrying the soul across the Styx!

As Ambrose seated himself in the prow of the boat, the boatman thrust away from the bank and in that same instant raised his head to stare upward in my direction, and as he did so the night-black hood fell away and I glimpsed the grinning skull beneath. In that moment, my nerve broke completely. I was babbling insanely at the top of my voice during my precipitous flight through the cellars and up the nitre-coated steps.

I remember little of reaching the top of the steps and slamming the cellar door shut. My earliest coherent memory is of lying on my bed, shivering and shaking and staring at the brightening dawn light beyond the window.

This then was the curse of the Dexters. Only the long-dead members of that forgotten race, which created that hideous clock in the concealed room upstairs could possibly have told me what will happen next. For soon there will come a time when the solitary hand, once more, comes to rest upon that grinning skull and I shall have to make my way down to the grim black river and await the coming of the dark boatman.

But what will be my dire fate when He comes and I have no coin with which to pay Him? To what infernal h.e.l.l will I be consigned-or will it be my lot to be refused that final journey across the Styx, forcing me to live out an eternity in this grim old house on the edge of the cliffs?

DAGON AND JILL.

by John P. McCann.

Santa Monica.

Dear Mr. Whateley, Guiding you through the publishing process would go a lot smoother with email. However, as you insist there's no email in Dunwich, snail mail it shall be. First, congratulations on selling your textbook concepts to the Los Angeles Unified School District. Great timing. The district's religious diversity program, Different Voices, Different Ways, has been on the hunt for nontraditional faiths and yours certainly fits the bill. Mind you, I'm not judgmental. While I have never heard of Cthulhu, Nyarlathotep, or any other Great Old Ones, I'm certain your beliefs are sincere and your books will contribute to the rich cultural mosaic that is Los Angeles.

To recap: Whitman Press will publish three children's textbooks, based on your creed, for which you'll deliver ma.n.u.scripts and artwork. The three books are: 1. Dagon and Jill.

2. The Shadow Over Humpty Dumpty.

3. A Children's Necronomicon (with pop-up section) As Walt Whitman once said, "I am large. I contain mult.i.tudes." Welcome to our mult.i.tudes. I look forward to working with you and "opening doors," as you like to say.

Cheers, Martin Gelb-Crispling.

Editor, Whitman Press.

P.S. I Googled "Dunwich" in north central Ma.s.sachusetts. Your town seems to be ground zero for bizarre deaths, livestock mutilations, disappearances, and a host of other mysterious, forbidding events.

All I can say is be careful.

Maybe purchase some pepper spray.

Dunwich Goode Gelb-Crispling, The stars wheel in their course toward a terrible alignment. Young voices shall call forth that which is ancient beyond time; vital they learn to serve them who dwell in sea, earth and outer spheres. The powerless crawl before those with it, if ye see my meaning.

Sent ye writing and pictures for first book, Dagon and Jill. Will send second book if I am still alive. Last night One that Dwells Below emerged. Now it roams the hills and has already et up a horse and a lawn goose.

I am yr servant, Ezra Whateley * * * *

Santa Monica, CA Dear Mr. Whateley, Didn't a catch lot of what you said, but I couldn't agree more about empowering youngsters. Our daughter, Shannon, is being raised to believe she can rule the world.

Going forward, there could be a small problem with Dagon and Jill in the chapter where young Jill lures a homeless man out onto a pier, then shoves him into the water. The man is drug screaming beneath the surface by amphibious monsters, which then reward Jill with a gold tiara covered in seaweed.

This is a wonderful empowerment metaphor about the rewards that come from facing scary things. However, legal is worried some might view it as mean-spirited. Could you include people from other cultures and races, who are also shoved off the pier, so as not to single out the homeless?

Cheers, Martin Gelb-Crispling * * * *

Dunwich, MA Goode Gelb-Crispling, Yer thought is true. More sacrifices would please Dagon. But Jill is too young to offer so many. Let stand the drawing of the doomed tramp.

Have sent ye words and art for second book, Shadow Over Humpty Dumpty. Artwork is mine, drawn in the eldritch light of a gibbous moon. Thing from Below went back down but et up a county road crew. Now police will come again to meddle.

Stars are aligning. Must quickly say the Black Ma.s.s and make the Voorish Sign. My youngest boy went mad. He sits drooling on the porch, trying to play the cat like an accordion.

He's been scratched some.

Yer Servant, Ezra Whateley * * * *

Santa Monica, CA Dear Mr. Whateley, Sorry about your son's injuries. That's a problem with cats. You'll be pleased to know Legal withdrew all objections to Dagon and Jill after receiving your gift of a sack of gold coins. They say money talks, but in your case, it hollers through a bullhorn. However it's not for me to judge.

Our first printing of "Dagon" went out to schools and was incorporated into the Different Voices, Different Ways curriculum. So far, the book has been well received by students and teachers who enjoy the use of fantasy to further appreciation for non mainstream faiths.

Everyone is delighted.

Except the police.

I don't know if you've heard, but there has been a tragic local incident. Three middle school boys confessed to pushing homeless men off the Santa Monica pier. (Not sure of the total number since no bodies were recovered.) The boys carried Dagon and Jill and were caught trying to purchase MP3 players with a gold tiara covered in seaweed.

Clearly, this is a case similar to Charles Manson where he used the Beatles' music for criminal ends. However I've been unable to glean whether or not we face liability because our entire legal department resigned and moved to Las Vegas, taking along the gold coins. But that's an internal issue.

Still, going forward, there may be more controversial points with your second book, The Shadow Over Humpty Dumpty. For example, in one chapter, youngsters Tiffany and Giles ambush and murder a postman. They cut out his intestines and droop them into a 7-11 Big Gulp cup. Late at night, Giles offers the entrails to a round, eerie being seated on a wall. It sips up the guts like spaghetti while Tiffany screams something called, "The Spell of Aklos." (A real tongue twister, which, incidentally, contains no verbs.) I'm inclined to argue this is a parable telling kids that even with religion there are no easy answers to some of life's problems. Is that correct, or could it be a humorous metaphor on homework? Please clarify.

Cheers, Martin Gelb-Crispling * * * *

Dunwich, MA Gelb-Crispling, Lad and la.s.s appease the guardian of a doorway. Alter nothing on Spell of Aklos; least ye cause Earth to be dragged into another dimension. And stop ye talking so much. Print what I give ye.

Sending ye words and art for Children's Necronomicon. Police broke up Black Ma.s.s and chased us, but we lost them in Cold Springs Glen. Alas, they shot my eldest boy. He died, then dissolved into a puddle o' black stinking liquid.

But I knowed he would, so it's Okay.

Yr servant, Ezra Whateley * * * *

Santa Monica Mr. Whateley, I don't appreciate your tart tone. We're all trying our best to be sensitive to your religion's eschatology. Once again, our new legal department found no objections to Humpty Dumpty after receiving your gift of a large gold bar covered in moss. (You should really consider keeping your money in mutual funds.) Subsequently, "Shadow" has gone out to schools. Students and teachers are again pleased.

The police, not so much.

Same problem as before, I fear: bad timing. Recently, a half dozen postmen disappeared in Sherman Oaks. One was found dead near a cinderblock wall, split open like a Thanksgiving turkey, intestines missing. Anyway, because the postmen were federal employees, the FBI stepped in. They questioned everyone at Whitman Press except the legal department, who had resigned and left for the Barbados with the gold bar. The FBI seemed to know quite a bit about you and Dunwich. They were rude, intolerant, bullies, especially one Special Agent Hank Armitage. He treated me as if I were an ignorant dupe. (I'm sure my SAT scores tower over his.) I'm afraid I gave them your address. Clearly, from your previous letter, you are no stranger to religious persecution by the authorities.

Let me know if you need legal help.

Sadly yours, Martin Gelb-Crispling * * * *

Dunwich Goode Gelb-Crispling, Armitage is a cursed threat, and may yet spoil the return as in times past. (I pray he dies screaming in the mouth of terrible Nyarlathotep.) Know ye the signs of the coming? Lightning shall strike for six hours and upon the sixth hour doorways shall open, admitting them from without.

But all waits upon the stars and the last book, The Children's Necronomicon with pop up section.

Hurry ye with the printing.

Yr. Servant, Ezra Whateley * * * *

Santa Monica Dear Mr. Whateley, Thanks you so much for your thoughtful gift. I have never seen an emerald that big. (It will sure help with Shannon's college.) May I call you, Ezra? I was a little upset in my last letter. Please forgive me. I've been under great pressure. The ma.n.u.script and artwork arrived for the Children's Necronomicon. Everyone is relieved except the new legal department, who were hoping to have issues that would result in receiving one of your generous gifts. As it stands, the new book appears to be a fun, interactive, Harry Potter-type spell book with various incantations plus potions children can make out of common household items.

From the artwork, I gather kids will be opening those doorways you're so fond of and allowing Earth to be engulfed by nightmarish Great Old Ones who topple cities and crush horrified humans. Meanwhile, the children who opened the doorways will be honored and given power over continents. (As well as pesky brothers and sisters? I kid.) Clearly this message of perseverance winning out over adversity via belief in an underrepresented religion will be well received in diversity circles.

Are you still being ha.s.sled by police? I'll notify the ACLU.

Martin Gelb-Crispling.

Dunwich.

Goode Martin, Cursed Armitage hunts me and has brought dogs, but this time he is too late. The stars are almost right. Ye have done much to bring about the indescribable return. May ye go mad quickly and not be devoured.

Farewell, Ezra.

Santa Monica.

Dear Ezra, Please contact me at once. (I've included a phone card.) We have a crossover hit on our hands. The Children's Necromonicon (with pop-up Great Old Ones) is being gobbled up-another of your favorite themes. Kids love it. My Shannon must have four saltshakers and twenty candles in her room. I hear her up there p.r.o.nouncing those jaw busting spells you so love to write. Shannon even goes online and chants with other kids. They've started a Facebook page. As for you, we're besieged with interview requests from the media. The Children's Necronomicon could be bigger than Twilight.

Your friend, Marty.

PS: Nasty weather today. Lightning's been hitting around here for almost six hours. Hope it lets up soon.

I'm supposed to play tennis this afternoon.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS.

Robert Bloch.

Robert Bloch (19171994) was a prolific American writer, primarily of crime, horror and science fiction. He is best known as the writer of the novel Psycho, the basis for the film of the same name directed by Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k. He wrote that "Despite my ghoulish reputation, I really have the heart of a small boy. I keep it in a jar on my desk," (a quote borrowed by Stephen King and often misattributed to him). His fondness for a pun is evident in the t.i.tles of his story collections such as Tales in a Jugular Vein, Such Stuff as Screams Are Made Of and Out of the Mouths of Graves. Bloch wrote hundreds of short stories and over 20 novels. He was one of the youngest members of the Lovecraft Circle. H. P. Lovecraft was Bloch's mentor and one of the first to seriously encourage his talent. However, while Bloch started his career by emulating Lovecraft and his brand of cosmic horror, he later specialized in crime and horror stories dealing with the inner workings of the human mind.

Lin Carter.

Linwood Vrooman Carter (19301988) was an American author of science fiction and fantasy, as well as an editor, poet, and critic. He usually wrote as Lin Carter; known pseudonyms include H. P. Lowcraft (for an H. P. Lovecraft parody) and Grail Undwin. Many of his novels and short stories are in print from Wildside Press.

Adrian Cole.

Adrian Cole lives in Solomon Kane country in Devonshire, England, and has had some 25 books published as well as numerous short stories. "Dark Destroyer" is part of the Voidal Saga, a trilogy of very weird fantasy books (available from Wildside Press).

Michael R. Collings.

Michael R. Collings is the author of nine novels (science fiction, Horror, and Mystery) as well as multiple volumes of short fiction, poetry, criticism, and literary studies. An Emeritus Professor of English at Pepperdine University, he is an authority on the works of Stephen King and Orson Scott Card. He currently lives with his wife in southeastern Idaho.

John Glasby John Stephen Glasby (19282011) was a prolific British author whose work spanned a range of popular genres. A professional research chemist and mathematician, he produced over 300 novels and short stories during the 1950s and 1960s, most of which were published pseudonymously under the Badger Books imprint. Wildside Press is reprinting the best of his work. We are delighted to present two original Mythos stories in this collection.

Robert E. Howard Robert E. Howard (19061936) was an American author who wrote pulp fiction in a diverse range of genres. He is probably best known for his character Conan the Barbarian and is regarded as the father of the sword and sorcery subgenre.

He was a member of the Lovecraft circle and contributed several notable elements to Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos of horror stories (beginning with "The Black Stone," his Mythos stories also included "The Cairn on the Headland," "The Children of the Night" and "The Fire of a.s.shurbanipal").

T.E.D. Klein T.E.D. Klein is the former editor of Rod Serling's The Twilight Zone Magazine, but before he took over that role, he was an accomplished-if far too infrequent for his fans-writer. Critic S. T. Joshi wrote of his work: "In close to 25 years of writing Klein has only two books and a handful of scattered tales to his credit, and yet his achievement towers gigantically over that of his more prolific contemporaries."

"The Events at Poroth Farm" originally appeared in 1972 in a fan magazine, and it immediately gained Klein a rabid following. It's easy to see why. The version included in The Cthulhu Megapack has been especially-and subtly-revised for this publication.

Henry Kuttner Henry Kuttner (19151958) was an American author of science fiction, fantasy and horror. Kuttner was known for his literary prose and worked in close collaboration with his wife, C. L. Moore. They met through their a.s.sociation with the "Lovecraft Circle," a group of writers and fans who corresponded with H. P. Lovecraft.

Frank Belknap Long Frank Belknap Long (19011994) was a prolific American writer of horror fiction, fantasy, science fiction, poetry, gothic romance, comic books, and non-fiction. Though his writing career spanned seven decades, he is best known for his horror and science fiction short stories, including early contributions to the Cthulhu Mythos. During his life, Long received the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement (at the 1978 World Fantasy Convention), the Bram Stoker Award for Lifetime Achievement (in 1987, from the Horror Writers a.s.sociation), and the First Fandom Hall of Fame Award (1977).

H.P. Lovecraft Howard Phillips Lovecraft (18901937) was an American author of horror, fantasy and science fiction, especially the subgenre known as weird fiction. If you aren't familiar with his work, well...this is a good place to start!

John McCann An Emmy winning TV animation writer, John P. McCann enjoys the freedom of prose and the absence of budget constraints on the imagination. In addition to blogging at www.writeenough.blogspot.com, John is currently crafting a humorous book on New Age practices ent.i.tled "The Little Book of Big Enlightenment."

Mark McLaughlin Mark McLaughlin's fiction, poetry, andarticles have appeared in hundreds of magazines, anthologies and websites. His most recent story collection is Partners in Slime, co-auth.o.r.ed by Michael McCarty, from d.a.m.nation Books. His first novel, Monster Behind the Wheel (also coauth.o.r.ed by McCarty), is being re-released by Medallion Press.

Visit him at www.Facebook.com/MarkMcLaughlinMedia Brian McNaughton Brian McNaughton (19352004) was an American writer of horror and fantasy fiction who mixed s.e.x, satire, and black humour. He won a World Fantasy Award for his collection of linked short stories, The Throne of Bones (1997, available from Wildside Press).

Thomas Kent Miller Thos. Kent Miller is the author of Allan Quatermain at the Crucible of Life and Sherlock Holmes on the Roof of the World. He's been published in Faunus: The Journal of The Friends of Arthur Machen, Ghosts & Scholars: M.R. James Newsletter, and The Weird Tales Collector. He names his cats after Victorian authors.

Robert M. Price Robert M. Price is an American theologian and writer. He teaches philosophy and religion at the Johnnie Colemon Theological Seminary, is professor of biblical criticism at the Center for Inquiry Inst.i.tute, and the author of a number of books on theology and the historicity of Jesus. As editor of the journal Crypt of Cthulhu and of a series of Cthulhu Mythos anthologies, Price has been a major figure in H. P. Lovecraft scholarship and fandom for many years. In essays that introduce the anthologies and the individual stories, Price traces the origins of Lovecraft's ent.i.ties, motifs, and literary style. Price's religious background often informs his Mythos criticism, seeing gnostic themes in Lovecraft's fictional G.o.d Azathoth and interpreting "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" as a kind of initiation ritual.