This is a journal entry from Detective John DuBois. Do keep in mind the time period this was recorded and the slang/vernacular used.
Well, I’ve witnessed my fair share of inexplicable occurrences in this lifetime, but by the bee’s knees, nothing comes close to this. Now, I hail from the streets of Charleston, South Carolina, where tales of the paranormal dance on folks’ lips. Haints, Boo Hags, and ghosts are a dime a dozen down yonder. And during the War, I swear upon my battered fedora, I’ve seen angels appear in No Man’s Land. I’ve seen mates turn to mist before my very peepers, only to reappear in the trenches for a brief spell afore evaporating into thin air.
But enough of that hullabaloo.
After the War came to a halt, I settled myself in the ol’ town of Arkham, Massachusetts. Found myself a dame and pinned a ring on her finger, ya know? Joined the ranks of the local coppers and worked my way up to the detective gig. And here we find ourselves today, dear journal, on the tails of a peculiar case. A call came in, some tipster blabberin’ about robed figures sneakin’ into a warehouse down by the docks. So, naturally, we moseyed on over for a little look-see. Well, strike me down with a feather, when we entered that joint, all we heard were bloodcurdling screams piercin’ the night. Not even my time dodgin’ bullets in the trenches could have prepared me for the spectacle that unraveled before my weary orbs.
A congregation of folks, half human and half fish, had gathered ‘round like some twisted carnival show. In the center, poor soul, bound and helpless, was offered as a sacrificial lamb atop a blasted sigil. One of ‘em, the ringleader I reckon, was chantin’ some gibberish I couldn’t make heads or tails of. Mentioned somethin’ about “Yog-Sothoth and Cthulhu,” if memory serves. Then, out of thin air, two portals manifested themselves—one reachin’ for the stars, the other plungin’ deep into the briny depths. One of ‘em, the cosmic abyss, fixed its gaze upon me, peering into my very essence. Never afore have I felt such a chill crawl down my spine. At that precise moment, one of those cultists caught sight of my presence, and a ruckus ensued. A shootout, my dear journal! Me and my boys, we let loose a symphony of lead, pickin’ ‘em off one by one. By some stroke of fortune, I managed to put an end to the chantin’ fiend, and one of the portals sealed shut. Finally, we subdued the last of ‘em, and all the portals closed tight. As the breath of life escaped one of those fish-faced rascals, he spat his final words at me, “This plan has been brewin’ for eons. You’re too late.” But I’ll be hornswoggled if it ain’t all said and done now.
Since that fateful encounter, my slumbers have been invaded by dreams of an underwater city, a sight unseen in this day and age. And within its depths resides a mighty figure. Perhaps it’s high time I poked my nose ‘round these parts, sniffin’ out any other occult shenanigans brewin’ in the shadows.