I was planning to spend my Sunday preparing lectures when my butler Ronald informed me that I was being summoned to PI5 HQ in New York. Upon arrival, I met with five others. Current or future mental patients of mine, I reckoned. I was wrong (or, due to how events unfolded, maybe not).
Even though each one was worth a study on their own, we were being ushered into a room to meet a certain Claude Ropes, who turned out to be our handler. We were going on our first mission, as a team nonetheless. I studied my companions, all oblivious to the horrors which awaited them. But not me, I had treated PI5 agents before. I might not know the exact nature of what they were exposed to, but I knew too much about the outcome. And now I was to baby sit this group.
Mister Ropes wanted us to go back to Arkham to talk to a certain Rupert Merryweather, an old cronie who was hospitalized and dying from cancer. Which he did, while we were talking to him. Lung cancer, it turned out. Most of it, including his lungs, ended up on Tobias Ogmore’s clothing. Ogmore, being one of the newly recruited agents struck me as an odd one from the get go, and his oddness would only expand as the events unfolded. Aside from his evident obsessive compulsive disorder, there was something else about him, something far more sinister – talking to him felt like staring into the abyss at one point. Whatever is buried beneath his troubled surface, it best stay buried. I fear the man is a walking time bomb.
The recently deceased Mister Merryweather left a tin box of no value. Inside it, we found a deed to a house over at Ross’s Corner, a key to the house, and a journal. While entertaining my fellow agents at my professorial residence at Miskatonic University campus, I tried to both keep Ogmore in check while Professors Locke and Bobrikov discussed the notes in the journal. Doctor St. Martin seemed to be occupied with affairs of her own, and the smooth talking Mister Fairlane left the premises, deed and key in hand.
I learned two things this Sunday, Ogmore has daddy issues yet to be resolved, and from listening to Locke/Bobrikov’s discussion we were going up against an Anthropod, almost like a lobster, or Cancer (in Latin). They said it had a thousand mouths, originating from a lost continent, Mu. Bobrikov expressed reluctance towards going to face it unprepared. At that point I thought to myself – how do you prepare against fairy tales and horrors from your own imagination?
After my butler Ronald had served a decent breakfast on Monday morning, we drove out to Ross’s Corner, eventually locating a farm house we were supposed to enter. Several of my companions carried guns, eager to confront the monster from Merryweather’s journal. Personally, I suspected that Merryweather and his so called brotherhood had used quite a lot of opiates in their youth, and that the tale he referred to was nothing more that a hallucinogen induced spree of violence, resulting in the death of one of them.
We did, however, locate a translation of something called De Vermiis Mysteriis, which piqued Professor Locke’s interest. With the addition of some brown powder, he proclaimed that we had found a recipe for returning the monster to its prison. At this point, the only monster we had encountered was a smelly drifter who ran away as soon as we entered the farm.
Something transpired at this point, which I missed completely, since Ogmore had started going in circles outside the farm house. Round and round his truck he walked, a truck he referred to as Dorothy. I went outside to calm him down, and by the time I had managed to do so, we heard shots from Fairlane’s Tommy Gun just before St. Martin and Locke came running, carrying the lifeless body of Bobrikov between them. Half his face was missing! Fairlane was just behind them, and we all took to the road, while…..something…..attacked Ogmore’s truck.
St. Martin managed to stabilize Bobrikov, but he needed throrough medical attention, so we left him at the hospital, before we decided to return to the farm house. Locke instructed us in how to perform a ritual of sorts, which would imprison the Cancer, he even handed out notes for us to read backwards.
I do not wish to speak too much about what events occured in that forsaken farm house. Suffice to say, we imprisoned the beast, but at a cost. I fear there will be a long time until St. Martin will recover mentally, Ogmore seems like a lost case to begin with, Fairlane…..I saw him eat Bobrikov’s dog at one point….the one thing that kept us all going was Locke’s stoicism. He saved us that night, he saved us all. From what, I never want to know.