The horror at Red HookLovecraft, H. P. (Howard Phillips)
Science
The horror at Red Hook
Lovecraft, H. P. (Howard Phillips)
Cults -- Fiction; Horror tales; Occultism -- Fiction; Red Hook (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Short stories
about to spend his remaining years in a brighter second youth which
ease, care and diet had made possible to him. Less and less was he
seen at Red Hook, and more and more did he move in the society to
which he was born. Policemen noted a tendency of the gangsters to
congregate at the old stone church and dancehall instead of at the
basement flat in Parker Place, though the latter and its recent
annexes still overflowed with noxious life.
Then two incidents occurred--wide enough apart, but both of intense
interest in the case as Malone envisaged it. One was a quiet
announcement in the _Eagle_ of Robert Suydam's engagement to Miss
Cornelia Gerritsen of Bayside, a young woman of excellent position,
and distantly related to the elderly bridegroom-elect; whilst the
other was a raid on the dance-hall church by city police, after a
report that the face of a kidnapped child had been seen for a second
at one of the basement windows. Malone had participated in this
raid, and studied the place with much care when inside. Nothing was
found--in fact, the building was entirely deserted when visited--but
the sensitive Celt was vaguely disturbed by many things about the
interior. There were crudely painted panels he did not like--panels
which depicted sacred faces with peculiarly worldly and sardonic
expressions, and which occasionally took liberties that even a
layman's sense of decorum could scarcely countenance. Then, too, he
did not relish the Greek inscription on the wall above the pulpit; an
ancient incantation which he had once stumbled upon in Dublin college
days, and which read, literally translated: "O friend and companion
of night, thou who rejoicest in the baying of dogs and spilt blood,
who wanderest in the midst of shades among the tombs; who longest for
blood and bringest terror to mortals, Gorge, Mormo, thousand-faced
moon, look favorably on our sacrifices!"
When he read this he shuddered, and thought vaguely of the cracked
bass organ-notes he fancied he had heard beneath the church on
certain nights. He shuddered again at the rust around the rim of a
metal basin which stood on the altar, and paused nervously when his
nostrils seemed to detect a curious and ghastly stench from somewhere
in the neighborhood. That organ memory haunted him, and he explored
the basement with particular assiduity before he left. The place was
very hateful to him; yet after all, were the blasphemous panels and
inscriptions more than mere crudities perpetrated by the ignorant?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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