de profundis example
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June 10, 1936
To whom it may concern,
I am obliged to inform you, with regret, of the death of yourfriend Robert Blake. His death has been determined to have been
caused by electrical shock, or nervous tension induced by
electrical discharge during the night of June 8th. Arrangements
have been made with his family. The enclosed unfinished letter
was found on his desk, and I thought it proper to be forwarded to
you. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at the
enclosed address.
Doctor DexterCoroner's Physician
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June 30, 1936
Doctor Dexter,
I would like to thank you for sending me Robert's
letter as well as informing me of what happened to my friend.
I imagine that it cannot be easy to inform friends and
family that one they care about has died. I wish to send my
thanks and appreciation for taking up that grim task.
It is regarding what happened to my friend that I write
on further. In your letter you state that Robert died of
'electrical shock, or nervous tension induced by electrical
discharge'. This cause of death seems to be most unusual and
certainly much unexpected.
Could you please elaborate further to me on what
happened? Where was he when this accident happened? How did
it happen?
I would greatly appreciate any information that you can
give me in what happened to Robert, or direct me to any
further sources to which I could inquire. Having a clearer
picture of what happened to my late friend would do a greatdeal to ease my troubled mind.
Sincerely,
Elliot Markham
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July 9, 1936
Dear Sir,
It was my pleasure as well as duty to contact someone suchas yourself who obviously cared enough to reply.
The unusual prognosis was a result of the unusual state of
the body when discovered - sitting bolt upright at his desk by the
window with all the marks of stark, convulsive fright etched upon
his twisted features. The unbroken window and lack of a more
identifiable cause of death combined with his obviously
unbalanced state of mind gave me little choice but to place
blame upon profound shock brought on by an existing nervouscondition.
I believe his death occurred sometime during the great
storm which broke just before midnight June 8th. Lightning struck
repeatedly in all parts of the city, and two remarkable fireballs
were reported. The rain was torrential with a constant fusillade of
thunder. Then, at approximately 2 AM, the lights went out all over
the city.
Students in the Psi Delta house, whose upper rear windows
look into Blake's study, noticed the blurred white face at the
westward window on the morning of the ninth, and wondered
what was wrong with the expression. When they saw the same face
in the same position that evening, they felt worried, and watched
for the lights to come up in his apartment. Later they rang the bell
of the darkened flat, and finally had a policeman force the door.
Found open upon his desk was a journal or diary
containing very peculiar writings. He seems to have prolonged his
frenzied jottings to the last, and the broken-pointed pencil was
found clutched in his spasmodically contracted right hand. I
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have read it, and as his family shows no interest in retrieving it, I
will send it on to you under separate cover.
I remain,
Doctor DexterCoroner's Physician
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July 20, 1936
Dr. Dexter,
I would like to thank you for elaborating on the
details of what happened to Robert. I find that reading the
explanation is a double-edged sword. As much as my mind is
relieved in hearing the details - it is further burdened by
questions and a heavy conscience.
I imagine that you get the friend or relative who
continues to push for answers and who will not believe the
explanations of the cause of death which is given. I do not
wish to present myself as one of those individuals. I know
my friend seemed to be showing signs of increased imbalance
recently which seems to support his stated cause of death.
Despite this fact, his death seems to be most unusual.
I have trouble understanding it in full. Perhaps it is just
the shock of losing a friend whom I have known since school,
but I have a dark feeling which will not dissipate.
I would very much appreciate the papers which you
mentioned in you last letter. I hope that those papers willanswer some more of my questions and lay this dark topic to
rest.
Sincerely,
Elliot Markham
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July 29, 1936
Dear Sir,
I have sent the diary, you should have received it by now.While its fevered writings may contain some answers, it's more
likely to raise many more questions. I admit to reading it while I
contemplated Mr Blake's cause of death, but I am at a loss to
explain the reported events found therein.
I remain,
Doctor Dexter
Coroner's Physician
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August 19, 1936
Dr. Dexter,
I have read over Robert's diary and I am afraid that I
have found no more answers. The bizarre names he mentions
are foreign and meaningless to me as are their implications.
Robert has always been neck-deep in fiction and I imagine
that the names are from his last works as a writer making
their way onto the page which you sent to me. He did,
however, mention the 'Shining Trapezohedron' before in his
letters.
If I am not mistaken, he believed that the 'Shining
Trapezohedron' was the object which had summoned the
creature which he believed was stalking him. I imagine that
his fear and paranoia mixed with his predisposition to
fiction and fantasy is what brought him to his wits end. I
know his condition was fueled by the damned superstitious
foreigners who cite god and the devil for any mildly obscure
happening.
Answers remain obfuscated and I fear that what had
truly brought Robert to his unfortunate end may never beknown. I am told that it is natural to dig for deeper
meaning and explanation after an event like this, but I have
had enough of that. It is clear to me that Robert's own
anxiety, paranoia and delusions got the best of him and I
will stop looking beyond the obvious reality.
I am grateful for your responses and for the time you
have taken to write them.
Sincerely,
Elliot Markham
P.S. I have an unrelated question regarding deaths. I
understand that you are a coroner's physician and you may
have some insight which could be of use to me.
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I am an investigative reporter by profession and I am
currently investigating a number of suicides in the
Philadelphia area. My aim is to see if there is any
correlation between the deaths and the current economic
depression and consequent loss of work. In this
investigation I have found that a preponderance of the dead
had jumped to their deaths and in many of these cases there
have been anomalous circumstances.
In six of the twenty cases which I investigated -
nearly a third - the photos of the deceased showed an odd
shock of white hair in an otherwise dark coiffure. Is this a
normal post-mortem occurrence?
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September 8, 1936
Dear Elliot
It's good that you are able to put Robert Blake's deathbehind you, as it was a tragedy, and unfortunate occurrence for
all concerned. However, do not concern yourself about the
"Shining Trapezohedron" as I believe in a "better safe than sorry"
policy when dealing with the mysterious and unknown. My only
regret is that someone found out and reported what I'd done with
it.
As to these "suicides" that you write of, I can think of no
physical reason why their deaths should result in such a peculiarcosmetic change like you describe. Perhaps the reverse instead is
true, that the same psychic shock that caused their hair to change,
is also responsible for their deciding to commit such a final
irrevocable act. I will consult with some of my associates on the
matter. If you have any more questions, please feel free to write. I
confess that your story has aroused my curiosity.
I remain,
Doctor Dexter
Coroner's Physician
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September 25, 1936
Doctor Dexter,
I mentioned in my last letter that I was an
investigative reporter for a prominent newspaper in
Philadelphia. A couple of months ago I began to investigate
a number of suicides in the Philadelphia area. The rate of
suicides has risen to an unusually high level. I caught wind
of this from a contact I have in the police department and I
began to investigate the unusual number of suicides in order
to see if there was a connection to the current economic
depression.
I investigated the living situations of a number of the
recently deceased. I concluded that there was no obvious
connection to the economic situation and therefore no
business story. Some of the deceased were actually doing
reasonably well in the financial realm - and the vast
majority of them were at least employed in some capacity and
were making a comfortable living.
Despite seeing no immediate business connection, I
found a number of irregularities. One man who jumped to hisdeath had just become affianced, another had just purchased
a house. Many of them had no history of depression or
psychiatric illness and their family and friends could not
believe that the individual had committed suicide.
Beyond the apparent lack of motive for a number of
these deaths, in the post-mortem photos which I received, a
large percentage of them had a noticeable shock of white
hair. From other photos that I found of the deceased, noneof them had this before their death. When I asked people who
knew them, none of the deceased were noted to have had this
shock of white hair the last time they were seen alive.
According to the police the white hair was likely
associated with the psychological state of a suicidal
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individual. That answer has not satisfied me and I have
continued to investigate these events to find my own answers.
I have burned up a lot of my good will with my boss in order
to stay on this case, given its lack of a solid business
connection.
Another unusual thing which has encouraged me to
continue with this is that all of the dead with the white
shock of hair had jumped to their deaths. When I pointed
this out to the investigators, it was shrugged off as an
association with the shock of the fall or an undeterminable
psychological disorder and mental instability.
In some ways I am not entirely sure what I am looking
for in these cases, but something definitely does not add up.
Why would these individuals who seemingly have no reason to
kill themselves hurl themselves off of the roofs of their
apartment buildings?
I am very disappointed with the detective looking into
these incidents for not entertaining the idea of searching
for a deeper explanation and, more recently, for not
returning my messages.
I appreciate your response and your professional input
as it has thus far been of assistance. I will keep you
informed of any developments if you are still interested.
Sincerely,Elliot Markham
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October 28, 1936
Dear Elliot,
I am definitely still interested, although I admit you haveme at a loss. My associates have not yet ventured any kind of
opinion, but in my experience what you describe has no basis in
normal clinical psychiatry.
Do you suspect foul play? From what you describe these
suicides should be considered "atypical". What medical
professionals have been assigned to this case? They do not seem to
be fulfilling their usual roll.
I have one acquaintance, a Dr. Armitage, who is much more
experienced in the arcane than I, who I will try and contact.
I remain,
Doctor Dexter
Coroner's Physician
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November 17, 1936
Doctor Dexter,
Thank you for writing back to me. In my work I had
forgotten about our correspondence. There have been many
developments and much has been uncovered. I will start from
where I last left off with you.
I have remained convinced that there is something else
involved with the unusual suicides about which I have spoken
to you. From the time of my last letter to you, three more
deaths have occurred - two of them evincing the white shock
in the hair and with no immediately apparent motive for
suicide. One of them was a father of two children, another a
policeman. After much insistence on my part my boss gave me
two weeks to come up with a presentable story. I got to work
immediately.
I began to look for some connection between the
deceased: something they all had in commmon. I went through
each of their homes; I went through any records that I could
get my hands on; I spoke with their families, their friends
and the last people to see them alive. I determined thatthey were of different ages, lived in different parts of
town and had different types of jobs.
My wife has routinely complained of my 'obsession' with
this case and how my work has taken over our house. I have
been using the family room downstairs as my secondary office
as I needed more space. My small office upstairs is too
cramped for me to hold the large amounts of paper I have
accumulated. Fortunately my old apartment had yet to be sold,so I returned to the dusky apartment across town and I have
made that my office. Now she complains of my never being
home - for some people, there is no pleasing.
On the last day of my second week, I finally made a
breakthrough in this case. I was reviewing the notes I had
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taken while interviewing the widow of the most recently
deceased man. She mentioned something which I had heard two
other times but thought nothing of - gambling problems. It
was as though a bolt of lightning struck my head and this
whole case suddenly became much clearer.
I scrambled through the mountain of papers and notes on
my desk. Three of the dead men were known to be gamblers.
This also explained why the typical motive for suicide,
being financial crisis, did not apply. Many of these men
were all comparably well off. These were not men who gambled
because they had no other option - they did it because they
enjoyed it and because they could.
Despite a loud and public argument, I was unable to
convince my boss to extend my deadline. As a result my
ability to pursue this investigation has become much more
limited and I have burned up a lot of the good will which I
have accumulated. I have since been working on this case
when I can during working hours and immediately after work
long into the night. I have found it convenient to sleep at
the apartment some nights.
I remain hesitant to suggest a theory of the deaths,but I believe there is a connection to the gambling. I have
been seeking some proof to present to the police and to my
newspaper. My next objective will be to confirm my theory.
If that theory is true, then I will finally have made a
connection among the deaths in otherwise unrelated cases.
Any help or insight you can provide would be very much
appreciated. If you have any associates such as the doctor
whom you mentioned who you believe might be able to assistplease include them. I must leave off this letter here, as I
have another long and sleepless night ahead of me.
Elliot Markham
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December 8, 1936
Dear Elliot,
I read your recent missives, and I feel the stirings of worry.Do not allow this obsession to investigate take over your life. Do
not jeopardize either your professional or home life. I've never
known any woman who would put up with being ignored for very
long.
I do not know if this might help you with your research, but
I'd like to point out that when people gamble, what they gamble
for isn't always money.
On a side note, I do not suppose that you have recently
visited Providence in your investigations? The only reason I
mention this is that my neighbors have mentioned seeing a
mysterious man exploring the area and paying particular
attention to my home.
I remain,
Doctor DexterCoroner's Physician
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January 21, 1937
Doctor Dexter,
I write to you in a state of excitement. I am right. I
know it now.
After so much time, so much work and so many doubts -
we can finally find out the truth to these deaths. I know it
is not suicide, or at least not simple suicide caused by
'normal' factors. There is something else that is going on
and I know that it relates to this gambling.
I presented my theory to the detectives with whom I had
spoken months before and they turned me away. The case was
closed, they said. I wonder if the case was ever actually
open. I know they are good men who are just doing their jobs
- they said that I needed some more proof. And that is
exactly what I have found.
I took a temporary leave of absence from work so I
could have the time to solve this case. I told that bumbling
idiot boss of mine that I would have the story of a lifetime
when I returned to the newspaper. He told me not to comeback. We are both hot tempered men and I am not surprised
that things ended like that. When I come back with the truth
which has the makings of a great news print story it will
have all been worth it to see his expression.
After speaking with the detectives I began sniffing
around different bars and gambling dens in areas which many
of the deceased had been known to frequent. None of the
places to which I went appeared to be the place that I waslooking for. Most of the people with whom I spoke didn't
recognize any of the pictures I showed of the deceased, and
those who did only recognized one or two photos - never the
entire group.
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After many nights of investigating, it became clear
that the place where these men died due to their gambling
was not any place the other living gamblers of the city knew
about. I checked all the locations I could find and they
were all dead ends. There was only one option left: the
private locations. The very private ones. It was the only
answer that made sense. I started poking my nose around
deeper, asking about private gambling locations, betting on
exotic things and placing unusual wagers.
What led me to the next layer of this conspiracy was a
chance encounter with a random patron in a grimy bar. I had
progressed to the point of talking to anyone I could find
while avoiding those I had pestered to the point of anger.
Just as I was about to move on from that bar, a well-dressed
man came into the building. I had not seen him before in any
of the many bars and gambling locations to which I had been.
I showed him some of the pictures and he recognized one of
them. He said that he had seen one of the deceased walking
in the area of 4th and 44th streets. It's a warehouse
district. It had been a booming transportation hub in the
twenties but it was effectively a derelict now.
A feeling of excitement began to grow in me as I askedaround more about this new area of interest. I visited some
neighboring shops and a nearby apartment building and
interviewed anyone that I saw on the street. A number of
people said that they had seen different people in the area
late at night. Many different people, sometimes travelling
alone and other time in small groups. Some were dressed
nicely in suits, others looked homeless or poor. They would
come and go throughout the night with no apparent reason.
It was hard to dig up this information and for some
reason most people I spoke to seemed reluctant to talk. It
was as though a dark shadow had fallen onto this district
and all those around the shadow were scared or reluctant to
speak of it.
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I presented all this information to my contact in the
police department, along with one more piece of information.
One of the buildings, a massive abandoned warehouse which
used to be the hub of a successful shipping company, had
many foot prints in the snow leading to it. Too many to be
anything else but a gathering place. I checked the records
and this place has no active legal business operating out of
it. I concluded that this was the real deal.
This is all conjecture at this point, but I have a
theory as to what is going on. I did not convey the full
import of my theory to the police because I lack any
credible evidence. I only convinced them that there is
something illegal going on. I admit that my complete
hypothesis is a bit too much for even me to fully accept. I
have not mentioned it to anyone else, but I will share it
with you.
I think it is organized crime. Mafia, crime lords, like
Capone. A high stakes gambling ring which has been
disguising murders as suicides to fool the police. I have no
way of knowing for sure, but we will find out. Tomorrow
night we are going to raid the place. I finally convinced my
contact in the police to take a leap of faith and to trustme.
Oh and about being followed, I wouldn't worry too much
about it. Even at the peak of my activity, digging up
information about scandals, crimes - and now this with
organized crime - no one has come trailing my footsteps or
even seemed to notice me.
Sincerely,
Elliot Markham
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January 22, 1937
Doctor Dexter,
It doesn't make any damned sense! My contact, four
other officers and myself raided the warehouse last night.
We prepared on an adjacent street and then we drove up to
the warehouse on 4th street. We broke down the front door in
the old warehouse, right where all of those foot prints were
leading. Inside there was nothing. Nothing at all.
We saw exactly what one would expect: a large, empty
dusty place that hadn't been used in years. A search of the
building revealed that aside from a couple of squatters, no
one had been there for a long time.
My contact was furious. He had put a lot on the line
and finding nothing at all would really throw his
credibility into the dirt. He stormed off and the other
officers followed him out of the old dark building.
I stood there for a while, flabbergasted. I was so
convinced that this was the place! No other option made
sense. I had several people tell me they had seen a numberof the dead on my list in this area after dark. I was told
that there were groups of people discretely traveling here
at night and this building was the one where quite literally
to which all the tracks led.
I really do not understand why or how I was wrong.
There must be something that I have missed!
Elliot Markham
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February 18, 1937
Dear Elliot
I am at a loss to explain the mystery. Perhaps the answer isthat you merely picked the wrong night. Perhaps they adhere to a
certain schedule that, of course, you could not know of, meeting
only at predetermined times such as certain phases of the moon. I
have faith you will be able to sort it out.
As to the mysterious stranger, I only mentioned him in case
you had found yourself in my neck of the woods during your far
reaching investigations and I worried I had missed your visit. No
doubt it was merely some lost tourist, or someone with a faultymemory of an old address.
I remain,
Doctor Dexter
Coroner's Physician
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April 26, 1937
Doctor Dexter,
I have been staring at my typewriter in the corner of
my cluttered dusky office. I keep watching it as the days go
by, knowing that I need to write to you and tell you what
has happened since our last correspondence, I have been
putting it off but the damned typewriter's presence keeps
reminding me of what I would prefer to forget.
It was a tough couple days following the failed raid to
that abandoned warehouse. I returned home to my house and my
waiting wife. The days went by slowly as I sat and thought
about what I had missed in this case. Our money has been
running out rather quickly and I would need to return to
work soon. I was also avoiding returning to work - I cannot
stand the thought of returning to my old boss to beg for my
job back without having something to show the smug bastard
to prove that I was right. If nothing more than in
frustration, or perhaps desperation, I returned to the
warehouse.
It was a moonless night when I returned to the buildingand the snow had melted away leaving no more foot print
evidence if there had been any more traffic to or from the
old warehouse. The street was deathly silent as it always is
in this area of town but for some reason it was more
unnerving that night. Perhaps because the chill of winter
had left and the streets being this silent in spring feels
unusual even at night. I saw no one on the streets as I
walked to the warehouse and it was as though everyone was
hidden away inside their homes still hibernating.
When I arrived in front of the old warehouse I saw that
the door's lock was still broken from when we broke it
during our raid of this building weeks ago. I know that a
part of me was hoping to see the lock repaired or replaced.
Mobsters wouldn't leave their front door unlocked and
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unguarded like this. I felt the frustration return as it
appeared that my trip out here was another vain action and
another waste of time. I decided to go into the warehouse
since I had already traveled all this way.
The front door opened easily and I walked into the
dusty old building for the second time. It was terribly dark,
the only illumination came from the streetlamps outside
which fought to penetrate the boarded up windows of the
building. I walked around in the great open space, looking
at some of the old boxes and other leftover garbage from the
last business which used to operate out of here.
As I was about to leave I saw an electrical box on a
far wall. I walked over to it not expecting much. As I
walked closer I saw that there was a thick cable running
from the electrical box along the edge of the wall. Curious,
I followed the cable and in a cluttered back corner it ran
through the floor downwards into a trap door.
Was something hidden beneath the floors? My heart leapt
with hopeful joy. Was I right after all? I opened the trap
door and peered downwards into what I can only imagine used
to be an old basement. There was a faint yellow light at thebottom of a rusty ladder - a light was on down there. I had
no portable light of my own, but I climbed down anyways
hoping that against all the odds I was not still wrong.
While climbing down the ladder I felt all of the old
feelings of the thrill of the investigation return. To dig
up a lead out of nothing, to follow it and to see that I had
been right all along and then turn nothing more than what
was an idea or a lead into a major story. One that woulddefinitely be front page and would make my name. That is
what I thought and what I hoped for while I climbed down the
rusty ladder.
When my boots touched the cold stone floor below, I was
filled with an abrupt feeling of anxiety. All the thoughts
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and thrills of the investigation were suddenly vacant,
leaving me standing in this old tunnel in the middle of the
night feeling worried. My heart began to beat quickly and
the memories of our mutual connection Robert Blake came to
the front of my mind entirely unbidden.
I am not sure if it was an old basement, maintenance
tunnel or some old sewer system - but the ladder brought me
to a series of damp brick and stone hallways. The ladder
came down in a 'T' section of the tunnel hallways, giving me
three different options for directions to travel in.
Somewhat unnerved, I continued forward down one of the
hallways picking a direction at random. I reminded myself of
all the times I have done similar investigations like this
alone. Being in the shady streets late at night had never
bothered me before, however now for some reason I was now
struck with a feeling of dread and heightened anxiety.
Crude light bulbs had been fastened to the ceiling with
one appearing every thirty feet or so. The wires connecting
them were strung in unceremonious loops connecting each
light in the winding hallways. The lights would flicker and
dim in irregular intervals as though the power was
experiencing brownouts. As I walked along the hallway I wascontinually assaulted by the most irrational fear I have
ever experienced and it took all of my resolve to not turn
around and go home. I had to know what was down here.
After walking for what felt like an hour, I finally
came to the end of a hallway which turned into another T
section. My head was swimming and I felt like I was in a
maze. Picking another direction, again at random, I
continued through the hallways. The hallway began to slopedownwards descending deeper into the ground. I imagine that
I had to be well out from beneath the warehouse by now.
Where were these tunnels going?
The slope continued downwards and the lights strung up
on the ceiling became further and further apart with
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intervals of darkness now appearing in between the dimming
yellow lights. After walking for what felt as though it was
a long time, I saw darkness ahead of me with no further
light. Originally I thought that the lights had simply ended
and there was only dark hallway continuing forward - but as
I neared I saw that the darkness ahead was in fact an open
space ahead of me.
The room ahead of me seemed to radiate an unnatural
feeling which I find hard to articulate here - but some
concoction of wrongness and secrecy. I crept towards the
room feeling both drawn towards it and indescribably
repulsed by it at the same time. I came to the threshold and
I peered into the room beyond, if you could call it a room.
The walls of the hallways up unto this point were made of
damp brick or stonework but the walls of this room seemed to
be of raw dirt or rock with rough uneven scrape marks on the
walls as though it had been dug out by hand. The room was
asymmetrical and as my eyes adjusted I saw there were
benches and tables in the room.
The faint lights began to brighten on their own accord
as I saw a large black shape in the center of the room. As I
took the sight in I saw what was a great statue or sculptureof something ... draconic. I have long thought about what it
was that I had seen in that room, but I cannot remember the
details except in the most broad description of the statue
being 'draconic', unnatural and different from anything I
had ever seen before.
I remember staring at it and feeling as though my body
was frozen in place. I felt awe and fear - fear that I
cannot describe and I broke out into a spontaneous coldsweat. I heard the noise of a door slam somewhere and it
broke me out of my trance. I ran out of that cursed room and
back towards the way I had come down here.
The lights in their cycle of dimming and brightening
seemed to pulse with my every footstep and it felt as though
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someone was chasing me around the bends and turns - just out
of sight and yet right behind me. The lights became dimmer
and dimmer as I finally neared the ladder. To my horror the
lights went out entirely just as the ladder came into sight.
Near my exit, I felt around in the dark and by the grace of
God I felt the rusty edge of the ladder.
I swear I climbed up that ladder faster than any man
has ever climbed and once up top I slammed the trapdoor
behind me. The noise sounding like thunder in the silent
echoing warehouse and as I shut the door I had the clearest
sensation that someone was looking up at me from the
darkness underground.
I walked home briskly, pausing every few seconds to
look behind me, my nerves on edge. As my heart began to slow
down and fear began to work its way out of my system, I
began to reflect on what had just happened. I still couldn't
believe how much my imagination carried me away and how much
irrational fear had assaulted my senses. Robert's stories
had gotten to me more than I had thought.
Since this event, I have been trying to understand what
had happened and what it means. I am still at a loss.
Elliot Markham
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June 6, 1937
Dear Elliot
I am sorry for the delay in my reply. I have beenexperiencing an irritating interruption in my mail service. My
letters have been arriving at odd intervals and I suspect some
may have failed to arrive at all. I have no proof (yet) that
something is amiss, it could easily turn out to be my imaginings
due to my being overly sensitive to events at this time. The postal
officials assure me that nothing suspicious is occurring.
I must say after reading your last letter, that it was quite
some story. I'd be more tempted to discount some of the moreexotic elements except for my slight involvement in the mysterious
events surrounding Robert Blake's death. Now I've learned to play
"better safe than sorry". Have you any idea what your discovery
might represent? Have you shared your discovery with the police -
or do you believe they may discount anything you claim now? I
have one question - was that cable you described as disappearing
into the basement present during the raid, or did you fail to
notice?
One thing I've noticed that has started to disturb me - you
are beginning to show all the signs of a gambler, much like those
unfortunate individuals you describe. You risk danger to gain
fame. You may need to slow down, step back and rethink just what
it is you are risking and what you hope to gain.
I remain,
Doctor DexterCoroner's Physician
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September 18, 1937
Doctor Dexter,
I must first apologize for the delay in my response. It
has been weeks since I have been at that warehouse and as
much as I try I cannot recall exactly what I saw in that
basement. The only time I seem to glimpse anything of
further detail about that room is in my dreams. I wake in a
cold sweat in the middle of the night and whatever I was
dreaming, or remembering, slips away as I wake and I am left
with just the sensation of something being deeply troubling.
I tried again to discuss this case with the police
however they clearly have no interest. I cannot say that I
blame them. I still have no strong facts and I have lost
much of my credibility due to the bungled raid and my
departure from the newspaper. Since my last letter I have
been trying to piece together what all of this means. The
'suicides', the 'victims' shock of white hair, that old
warehouse, the many footprints I saw leading to and from it
in the snow, the basement tunnels and that odd room and its
unknown use. I do not remember if that cable was there the
first time that I entered the warehouse with the police.
I began to read old news articles in archives, going
back years at times, looking for something to tie all of
this together. I do not think that I really expected to find
anything of significance while going through the articles. I
just had no other ideas and I was becoming somewhat
desperate. After searching for too long, I think that I have
found something. I have a theory about what happened,
although I am reluctant to write about it here. It feels asthough saying it out loud or minnitting it to paper will
make me appear even less stable than I already do, even to
myself.
A number of years ago the following story was featured
unimportantly in the newspaper for a single day.
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"A house which was previously thought to be abandoned
was discovered to have been occupied for an unknown amount
of time by a group of unidentified individuals. The house
has been scheduled for demolition for several years and
while checking the house before the demolition, the owner of
the property found large amounts of what appeared to be
sacrilegious literature strewn about throughout the
abandoned building.
The amount of material discovered indicated that a
number of individuals had been using this property illegally
for a protracted period of time. No one was found at the
site and the questionable material was thereafter destroyed
along with the house which was demolished to make way for
new development"
The many footprints in the snow and the number of
deaths suggests to me that there is a group of people who
are acting together and who also have malicious or violent
intent of some kind. I originally jumped to the conclusion
that a group of people who are involved with murder must be
criminals. I am now questioning this assumption. The secrecy
of their meeting in an abandoned warehouse and theunwillingness of the locals to discuss the events also point
to a group of individuals who inspire fear. A group which,
once again, I immediately assumed to be affiliated with
organized crime.
Given further thought my beliefs have changed. Perhaps
I am becoming too paranoid; perhaps I am reaching too far -
but an explanation that fits would be a group of heathen or
pagan worshipers - a cult. There are many accounts ofhorrible things being committed by those who worship foul or
primitive deities. It just so happens that none of these
cases are recent.
And then there is the basement. The little that I do
remember of the basement is a feeling - an association of
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something disturbing or unnatural. Something deeply wrong
which troubled me greatly. I cannot say what it was
specifically, but I think the answer toys with me in the
dreams. The feeling of wrongness that I felt fits with this
new theory, if I did in fact stumble upon a meeting site
with similar sacrilegious material.
You are right to fault me for searching for fame and
recognition. I wanted to find the story and then to throw it
in the faces of both the Police and my former employer. More
than that, I wanted to know that I was right all along when
everyone else was wrong. Things have now changed somehow.
Jobs and promotions, credit and fame just don't seem to
matter as much anymore. I don't know why I am still
investigating these deaths. It feels as though I just have
to know.
I would like to hear your thoughts,
Elliot Markham
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October 13, 1937
Dear Elliot
If I were you, I'd give the police a little time to cool downand forget. There can be no advantage gained by badgering
them until they treat you like some type of undesirable to be
avoided. In the meantime don't give up searching if you truly
believe you have a story worthy of the effort.
As to that odd basement you continue to see in your dreams,
I find that trying to force the mind to reveal what it does not wish
to reveal only causes you grief. It will open again when the time is
right. Perhaps the truth will reveal itself to you in these verydreams.
I have a question about that house you described, the one
where the suspected cult was located - before its destruction. Was it
located anywhere near the current location of the warehouse? I
just wondered if the two locals were close to one another.
On a more personal note, I've recently had the most peculiaroccurrence. I seem to have a twin wandering the city here. A very
close friend complained recently that I had walked right past him
at the University library without even the courtesy of a welcoming
hello, or even any signs of recognition. I know for a fact that I
haven't been at that library for at least a fortnight, and in fact
on the afternoon in question, I was peacefully napping after
having unexpectedly fallen asleep in the sunny warmth of my own
living room.
I'm suddenly reminded of a similar problem I had several
years ago (which I'd put completely out of my head until this very
moment) - I was susceptible to momentary blackouts, and would
awaken to find myself in unfamiliar surroundings. Sometimes I
had a true adventure (and later quiet laugh) trying to return
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home from unknown locations. Doctors could find nothing wrong,
and the problem eventually faded away on its own leaving no
long lasting effects.
I remain, Doctor Dexter
Coroner's Physician
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