Part 1: Prologue - Documents

A Local Disturbance
September 6, 1915

Evening

I guess I'm becoming a victim of my own success. After closing the last five
cases so fast, the papers have been calling me a local hero. But I just had a
run of lucky hunches, that's all. I'm just another cop doing his job.

So there's a disturbance at a local residence. It's probably just a bunch of
kids hopped up on moonshine. Why call in a detective?

Maybe the uniform boys are sore at being out in this weather, and they want to
share the joy with the "local hero." It wouldn't be the first good-natured
prank I've had to take since those newspaper reports.

I don't know, though - something doesn't feel right. It's more than just a
regular bad feeling - it's hard to explain, but it's strong.

I'm probably just tired. Those dreams don't help. I can't remember when I last
got a good night's sleep - must be a month, at least. Right about the time I
started my run of lucky hunches.

The dreams have been getting worse lately. I'm almost afraid to close my eyes.
Bourbon helped at first, but not any more.

The lack of sleep must be affecting my nerves. Well, jitters or not, I better
get going.


Diary of a Cult Member

August 20, 1915

We have been watching him now for two months. I can feel my anticipation
growing as the day of contact draws near. Victor has not yet divulged his final
plan for bringing Mr. Walters to us; all I know is that we must succeed.


August 24, 1915

The sermon today was inspiring. Victor enlightened us with a story of The Great
Race transcending the bounds of time to visit his dreams.

Of the conscious things on this earth, and in the ocean depths, we are but
servants of a greater design. I can only hope that my faith during these last
days will win me favor when our masters step through the gate.


August 29, 1915

The experiments below have claimed one more of our order. Another volunteer is
needed, but many are willing. We are truly blessed through our faithful
service, now that his coming grows so close.


September 3, 1915

The preparations are complete, and Victor's plan is in motion. He will arrive
soon. Surely by now he must suspect his true nature, or at least question the
nature of his gifts.


September 6, 1915

He has come. Finally, it begins.



The Boston Globe, 20th August 1909

Enlightened or Duped?
Inside Boston's Strangest Church

Those of our readers who live near its headquarters in an ordinary-looking
Boston residence will need no introduction to the Fellowship of Yith (or
whatever the cult's name is).

For those who have not encountered this mysterious, semi-religious group
before, a few words of explanation are necessary.

Since our country's founding upon the basis of religious freedom, its shores
have been home to many small religious groups outside the mainstream.

No small number are headquartered in the states of New England, where the
Pilgrims themselves sought a new world free of religious persecution.

But the question must be asked: At what point does a religion become a cult,
and its trusting adherents - not to mention its blameless neighbors - become
victims? That is the question this journal poses in regard to the Fellowship of
Yith.

In a month-long investigation, our intrepid reporters have diligently sought
out the truth behind this so-called church.

Its origins are somewhat mysterious - the more so since the group's leaders
declined to be interviewed, or to assist our investigation in any way.

However, it seems that the Fellowship was founded more than twenty years ago by
one Victor Holt, based on a revelation he had received from beyond the confines
of this world.

Holt has not been seen for almost six years; his followers apparently believe
that he is communing with the mysterious powers behind his faith, and that he
is shortly to return with new insights and teachings.

All this sounds like a harmless, if eccentric, spiritual group, little
different from many others. However, those who make their homes near to the
Fellowship's headquarters tell a different, more sinister story.

The adherents of this obscure sect are to be found loitering on street-corners,
casting menacing glances at their innocuous neighbors and frequently engaging
in acts of petty crime, which the local police seem powerless to prevent or
redress.

Strange lights have been observed burning in the windows of the old house at
all hours of the day and night. They change color unpredictably, and cast
weird, unintelligible shadows.

Even more disturbing are the noises which have been heard to issue from within
the mysterious building. They include chanting, unearthly music, and - worst of
all - screams like those of lost souls in agony.

Many of the sect's neighbors are convinced that its services include human
sacrifice or similar atrocities.

Those few who dared complain to the police were told that because the house is
private property, and because there is no concrete evidence of any wrongdoing,
the most they can do is file a noise complaint.

Are the horrors of Salem being re-enacted in our city, more than two centuries
on? Is this Fellowship of Yith engaging in unspeakable - and criminal - acts of
worship involving torture and sacrifice?

Why is nothing being done to ease the fear and distress they cause to the local
community?

A source within the Police Department, speaking on the condition of anonymity,
tell the Globe that the Fellowship is suspected of involvement in a number of
local crimes but so far the lack of evidence and the reluctance of nervous
witnesses to come forward have thwarted any official investigation.

Very well, we say. Where the police cannot - or will not - investigate, the
Globe shall continue to act in the interests of Boston's citizens, fearlessly
exposing the truth about this so-called church and its followers.

Our findings will be published in these pages over the following monts, so that
all may know the truth!

Editor's note: It is with great sorrow that the Globe announces the death of
reporter Howard Addlestone, who was leading the paper's investigation into the
Fellowship of Yig when he apparently drowned in Boston Harbor.

The Coroner has ruled his death a suicide. Our condolences go out to his
family.



Pnakotica

This manuscript looks medieval, but claims to be a translation from classical
Greek of a far older work from before the time of the first humans.

The pages are stained, faded, and even burned in some places, making reading
difficult. The legible sections tell the history of unthinkably distant
antiquity.

They speak of races so strange as to be beyond human comprehension, and wars
fought across vast gulfs of time and space.

There are concepts so utterly alien that they sound like absolute madness. Time
travel, Flying Polyps, mental projection, Great Race of Yith - it makes you
dizzy just to read it.