The Statement of Randolf Carter - H.P. Lovecraft

0:00 The statement of Randolph Carter by H. P. Lovecraft. Again, I say, I do not know what has become of Harley worn, though I think almost hope that he is in peaceful oblivion, if there be anywhere so blessed a thing. It is true that I have for five years been his closest friend, and a partial share of his terrible researches into the unknown. I will not deny, though my memory is uncertain and indistinct, that this witness of yours may have seen us together, as he says, on the Gainesville Pike, walking toward Big Cypress Swamp at half past eleven, on that awful night, that we bore electric lanterns, spades, and a curious coil of wire with attached instruments. I will even affirm for these things all played a part

0:43 in the single hideous scene which remains buried in my shaken recollection. But of what fouled, and of the reason I was found alone in days on the edge of the swamp next morning, I must insist that I know nothing save what I was told over and over again. You say to me that there is nothing in the swamp or nearer it which I could form the setting of that awful episode. I replied that I knew nothing beyond what I saw, vision or nightmare. It may have been vision or nightmare. I fervently hope it was. Yet it is all that my mind retains of what took place in those shocking hours after we left the sight of men, and why Harley Warren did not return, He or his shade, or some nameless thing I cannot describe

1:26 alone can tell. As I have said before, the weird studies of Harley worn were well known to me, and to some extent shared by me. Of his vast collection of strange, rare books on forbidden subjects. I have read all that are written in the languages of which I am master, but these are few as compared with those languages I can understand. Most, I believe, are in Arabic, and the fiend inspired book which brought on the end, the book which he carried in his pocket out of this world, was written in characters whose like I never saw elsewhere. Warren would never tell me just what was in the book. It as to the natures of our studies, must I say again that I no longer retain full comprehension.

2:06 It seems to me rather merciful that I do not, for they were terrible studies which I pursued more through reluctant fascination than through actual inclination. Warren always dominated me, and sometimes I feared him. I remember how I shuddered at his facial expressions on the night before the awful happenings, when he talked so incessantly of his theory why certain corpses never decay, but rest firm and fat in their tomb for a thousand years. But I do not fear him now, for I suspect that he has known horrors beyond my ken. Now I fear for him once more.

2:41 I say that I have no clear idea of our object on that night. Certainly it had much to do with something in the book which Warren carried with him, that ancient book in undecipherable characters, which had come to him from India a month before, But I swear I do not know what it was. We expected to find your will Andess says he saw us at half past eleven on the Gainesville Pike, headed for Big Cypress Swamp.

3:05 This is probably true, but I have no distinct memory of it. The picture seared into my souls once seen only, and the hour must have been long after midnight, for a waning crescent moon was high in the vaporous heavens. The place was an ancient cemetery, so ancient that I trembled at the manifold signs of immemorial years. It was in a deep, damp hollow, overgrown with rank grass, moss, and curious creeping weeds, and filled with a vague stench which my idle fancy associated absurdedly with riding stone. On every hand were the signs of neglect and decrepitude, and I seemed haunted by the notion that Worn and I were the first living creatures to invade a lethal silence of centuries. Over the valley's rim, A waning crescent moon

3:51 peered through the noisome vapors that seemed to emanate from unheard of catacombs, and by its feeble wavering beams, I could distinguish a repellent array of antique slabs, urns, cenotaphs, and mausoleum facades, all crumbling, moss grown and moisture stained, and partly concealed by the gross luxuriance of the unhealthy vegetation.

4:15 My first vivid impression of my own presence in this terrible necropolis concerns the act of pausing with Warren before a certain half obliterated sepulcher, and of throwing down some burdens which we seemed to have been carrying. I now observed that I had with me an electric lantern and two spades, whilst my companion was supplied with a similar lantern and a portable telephone outfit. No word was uttered for the spot, and the tasks seemed known to us, and without delay we seized our spades and commenced to clear away the grass weeds and drifted earth from the flat archaic mortuary. After uncovering the entire scene, which consisted of three immense granite slabs, we stepped back some distance

4:55 to survey the carnal scene, and Warren appeared to make some mental calculation. Then he returned to the sepulcher, and, using a spade as a lever, sought to pry up the slab lying nearest to the stony ruin, which may have been a monumented its stay. He did not succeed in motion to me to come to his assistance. Finally, our combined strength loosened the stone, which we raised and tipped to one side. The removal of the slab revealed a black aperture, from which rushed an affluence of miasmal gases, so nauseous that we started back in horror. After an interval, however, we approached the pit again and found the exhalations less unbearable.

5:36 Our lanterns disclosed the top of a flight of stone steps, dripping with some detestable ichor of the inner earth, and bordered by moist walls encrusted with niter. And now, for the first time, my memory records verbal discourse, Warren addressing me at length in his mellow tenor voice, a voice singularly unperturbed by our awesome surroundings. I am sorry to have to ask you to say Stan's surface, he said, but it be a crime to let any one with your frail nerves go down there. You can't imagine, even from what you've read and what I've told you, the things I shall have to see and do. It's fiendish work, Carter, and I doubt if any man with ironclad sensibilities could ever see it through and come up alive and sane.

6:19 I don't wish to offend you, and Heaven knows, I'd be glad enough to have you with me where the responsibility is in a certain sense mine and I couldn't drag a bundle of nerves like you down to probable death or madness. I tell you you can't imagine what the thing is really like, but I promised to keep you informed over the telephone of every move you see.

6:40 I've enough wire here to reach the center of the earth and back. I can still hear in memory those coolly spoken words, and I can still remember my remonstrances. I seemed desperately anxious to accompany my friend into those sepulcurled depths. Yet he proved inflexibly obdurate, and one time he threatened to abandon the expedition if I remained insistent, a threat which proved effective, since he alone held the key to the thing. All this I can remember, though I no longer know what manner of thing we sought.

7:09 After he had obtained my reluctant acquiescence in his design, Warren picked up the reel of wire and adjusted the instruments at his nod. I took one of the latter and seated myself upon an aged, discolored gravestone close by the newly uncovered aperture. Then he shook my hand, shouldered the coil of wire, and disappeared within that indescribable ostuary.

7:30 For a minute, I kept the sight of the glow of his lantern, and heard the rustle of the wire as he laid it down after him. For the glow soon disappeared abruptly, as if a turn in the stone staircase had been encountered, and the sound died away almost as quickly. I was alone, yet, bound to the unknown depths by those magic strands, whose insulated surface lay green beneath the struggling beams of that waning crescent moon. I constantly consulted my watch by the light of my electric lantern, and listened with feverish anxiety at the receiver of the telephone.

8:01 But for more than a quarter of an hour heard nothing. Then a faint clicking came from the instrument, and I called down to my friend with a tense voice. Apprehensive as I was, I was nevertheless unprepared for the words which came up from the uncanny vault in accents, more alarmed and quivering than any I had heard before from Harley Warren, he who was so calmly left me a little while previously, now called from below in a shaky whisper, more portentous than the loudest shriek. God, if you could see what I am seeing. I could not answer, speechless, I could only wait. Then came the frenzied tones again. Carter, It's terrible, monstrous, unbelievable. This time my voice did not fail me, and I poured into the transmitter flood of

8:45 excited questions. Terrified, I continue to repeat, Warren, what is it? What is it? Once more came the voice of my friend, still hoarse with fear, now apparently tinged with despair. I can't tell you, Carter, it's too utterly beyond thought. I dare not tell you. No man could know it and live. Great God, I never dreamed of this stillness again, save for my now incoherent torrent of shuddering inquiry. Then the voice of Warn in a pitch of wilder consternation, Carter, for the love of God, put back the slab and get out of this. If you can quick leave everything else and make for the outside, it's your only chance.

9:20 Do as I say, and don't ask me to explain. I heard it was able only to repeat my frantic questions. Around me were the tombs, and the darkness, and the shadows below me some peril beyond the radius of the human imagination. But my friend was in greater danger than I, and through my fear I felt a vague resentment that he should deem me capable of deserting him under such circumstances.

9:43 More clicking, and after a pause of piteous cry from warn, beat it, for God's sake, put back the slab and beat it. Carter. Something in the boyish slang of my evidently stricken companion unleashed my faculties. I formed and shouted a resolution, warn, brace yourself on coming down. But at this offered, the tone of my auditor changed to a scream of utter despair. Don't you can't understand It's too late in my own fault. Put back the slab and run.

10:10 There's nothing else you worthy one it can do now. The tone changed again, this time acquiring a softer quality as of hopeless resignation. Yet it remained tense through anxiety for me, quick before it's too late. I tried not to heed him, tried to break through the prowl sits which held me and to fulfill my vow to rush down to his aid. But his next whisper found me and still held inert in the chain of stark horror. Carter, hurry, it's no use. You must go better one than two.

10:42 The slab a pause, more clicking than the faint voice of Warren nearly over. Now, don't make it harder, Cover up those damned steps and run for your life. You're losing time so long, Carter won't see you again. Here. Warren's whispers swelled into a cry, a cry that gradually rose to a shriek. With all the horrors of the ages. Cursed, these hellish things, legions, my God, beat it, beat it, beat it. After that was silence. I know not how many interminable eons I sat, stupefied, whispering, muttering, calling, screaming into that telephone over and over again. Through those eons, I whispered and muttered, called, shouted and screamed. Warrened, Warren, answer me, are you there? And then there came to

11:30 me the crowning horror of all the unbelievable, unthinkable, almost unmentionable thing I have said that eons seemed to elapse after Warren shrieked forth his last despairing warning, and that only my own cries now broke the hideous silence. But after a while there was a further clicking in the receiver, and I strained my ears to listen again. I called down, warn, are you there? And an answer heard the thing which had brought this cloud over my mind. I do not try, gentlemen, to account for the thing that voice, nor can I venture to describe it in detail, since the first words took away my consciousness and created a mental blank which reaches to the time of my awakening in the hospital.

12:12 Shall I say that the voice was deep, hollow, gelatinous, remote, unearthly, inhuman, disembodied? What shall I say? It was the end of my experience and is the end of my story? I heard it and knew no more. Heard it as I sat petrified in the unknown cemetery, in the hollow, amidst the crumbling stones and the falling tombs, the rank vegetation that miasmal vapors, heard it well up from the innermost steps of that damnable open sepple curves, I watched a morphous necrophageous shadows dance beneath an incursed waning moon. And this is what it said, you fool Warren is dead end of the statement of Randolph Carter