The Haunted Palace Page #2

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What's wrong with him tonight?

Not him, woman, it! Lt!

How many times must I tell you?

It knows.

That's what's wrong.

It knows who's

come back to Arkham.

I'm all packed.

You ready?

- I have decided to stay.

- What?

Just long enough

to fix the place up.

With a little work,

it could bring a good price.

Don't you think?

I should imagine. I don't know.

I estimate two weeks,

perhaps three...

to get things started, anyway.

Do you mind?

No, not exactly.

I can't say it pleases me.

Then you go home.

I'm sorry.

It's just that I...

I can't leave now until I...

find out... some things.

Nightmarish, yes,

but not a nightmare.

They're quite real,

I'm sorry to say.

But what are they, doctor?

Human beings.

Very unfortunate human beings.

They were born mutated.

You see, Mrs. Ward,

it requires an extraordinary

combination of elements...

to form a normal person.

In their case,

the combination was wrong.

They were gathered

by Weeden, of course...

for the purpose

of frightening you away.

But why, doctor?

Why should we be treated

as though we have the plague?

Because you do.

To these people, at any rate.

Understand, Mr. Ward,

Arkham is a strange community.

You see, it's haunted.

Not by ghosts,

but haunted nonetheless.

By fear, by guilt...

and by the memory

of a particular night.

Particular night?

But what has this to do with us?

You see, 150 years ago...

a man named Joseph Curwen

moved to this village...

and built this palace.

His first wife died

in childbirth, so he selected...

the most beautiful woman

in the village...

and took her for his mistress.

Unfortunately,

she was engaged to marry...

an Arkhamite named Ezra Weeden.

No, thank you.

You spoke with

his descendent yesterday.

- The man at the inn.

- Yes.

According to legend,

a number of strange things...

occurred when Curwen

moved into the village.

Terrible noises

were heard in the night.

Thank you.

Young girls were said to have

disappeared from their homes...

to be gone until dawn...

and then reappear with no memory

of their whereabouts.

Weeden wasted no time...

in placing the blame

directly on this doorstep.

He and his coterie of friends...

claimed that Curwen

was a warlock.

Warlock?

Yes. One who

conjures up the dead.

They demanded punishment.

And one night

the people of the village...

marched on the palace...

dragged your ancestor

into the yard, and burned him.

Burned him?

The "Burning Man. "

That explains the guilt.

What about the fear?

Curwen put a curse

on the village.

He vowed that he'd return.

You can see

the resemblance yourself.

I'm sure that

every warlock or witch...

who died in America

left a curse.

Why should Curwen's

be taken so seriously?

Why should it be remembered

after all these years?

I can't say.

He was a strange man.

There were terrible

rumors about him.

Such as?

It was thought that

he had gained possession...

of a book

called the Necronomicon.

Have you heard of it?

No.

It obviously never existed...

except in the minds

of the superstitious.

But they claimed

it held enough secrets...

to give a man absolute power.

Of course, every mythology

has such a book...

but the Necronomicon

supposedly contained formulas...

through which one

could communicate with...

or even summon the elder gods...

the dark ones from beyond

who had once ruled the world...

and now are merely waiting...

for an opportunity

to regain that control.

Cthulhu, Yog-sothoth.

Dreadful rubbish, I know.

Still, the people

of Arkham believed it.

They claimed that Joseph Curwen

and two other warlocks...

were trying to open the gates

to these dark gods.

Open the gates? How?

They claimed that

Joseph Curwen was trying...

to mate those beings with humans

to create a new race...

through which the gods

could regain their control.

That's how they explained

the mutated births...

unsuccessful experiments

passed on...

from generation to generation,

carried in the blood.

What's your

explanation, doctor?

I don't have one.

I advise you

to leave this village.

I advise you to flee it...

as you would from

a madman with a knife...

who feels compelled

to destroy you...

before you can destroy him.

It's a cold night, sir.

You'll need your coat.

Thank you.

You seem troubled, sir.

Is something wrong?

You didn't hear them?

Beg your pardon?

The voices? People?

No, sir.

Must have been the wind.

Perhaps you should ask

Mr. Curwen.

- Curwen?

- Yes.

Maybe he could tell you.

Welcome, Joseph.

Simon. How long?

And whose body is this

I'm now occupying?

His name is

Charles Dexter Ward.

My great-great-grandson.

Perfect.

All the others were useless.

You would not accept them.

No matter.

- Where's Jabez?

- Here, Joseph.

Jabez, my old friend.

We three...

together again.

But... briefly, I fear.

I shan't be able

to hold him much longer.

He fights me.

When will you have full control?

Soon, Simon.

Keep him here

for a while longer...

and he will be all mine.

He has my blood.

I can feel it.

The book.

The book!

Good.

Now leave me, my friends.

He fights me.

He fights to leave me.

What is it?

What's the matter?

Dear, what are you

doing down here?

I don't know.

I must have walked in my sleep.

Please, dear, let's leave here

now, tonight.

I want to, but... I can't.

Why not?

Why not?

Over a whole week

he's been there...

and what's he been doing?

That's what I want to know.

What's he been doing?

Getting ready, that's what.

And meanwhile,

we sit here like sheep.

Willet, I thought

you said he'd be gone.

I thought he would be...

but you made him feel

so welcome...

he's probably decided

to stay for good.

Go on, sneer.

You can afford to.

You have no halfwitted thing

locked in your attic...

and no woman

to worry about, either.

I've got this whole town

to worry about.

The man you fear is dead!

Can't you fools get that

through your heads?

He died over 100 years ago.

He can't harm you or your women.

Don't you forget, doctor...

that the man who died

over 100 years ago...

he did this!

And now... he's back

with us again.

He'll be doing more.

Unless we stop him.

- Where have you been?

- Out walking.

- At this time of night?

- Yes, at this time of night!

Must I report my movements

to you like a schoolboy?

- No, of course not...

- Then mind your own business.

- What's happened to you?

- Nothing whatsoever.

No, you've changed.

I've never seen you like this.

If you won't go back to Boston,

at least let me call Dr. Willet.

No.

I shall be calling on Dr. Willet

personally within the week.

Now, are you satisfied?

- Yes.

- Then go back to bed!

What will you be doing?

That is not your concern.

Good night.

Good night.

Leave me alone.

Leave me alone!

I will never leave you alone.

Your blood is my blood,

your mind is my mind...

your body, my body.

It will do you no good

to resist me.

Your efforts

grow weaker every day.

No. No!

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