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    Miskatonic Defense League, Case File: The Strange Occurrence at Crowley Manor
    Miskatonic Defense League, Case File: The Strange Occurrence at Crowley Manor
    Miskatonic Defense League, Case File: The Strange Occurrence at Crowley Manor
    Ebook92 pages1 hour

    Miskatonic Defense League, Case File: The Strange Occurrence at Crowley Manor

    By E. N. Christian

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    About this ebook

    When Edward Montrose sets out to investigate Crowley Manor in Dunwich, Massachusetts on behalf of the Miskatonic Defense League, he has no idea that he's about to embark on a journey that will put his sanity to the ultimate test.

    Will he discover the cause of the strange disturbances plaguing the estate's new owner, or will he fall victim to powerful cosmic forces beyond his imagination?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherE. N. Christian
    Release dateOct 1, 2017
    ISBN9781370893485
    Miskatonic Defense League, Case File: The Strange Occurrence at Crowley Manor
    Author

    E. N. Christian

    E. N. Christian has always had an interest in the 'otherwordly', be it the cosmic horrors who lurk just beyond Man's ability to think and reason, or the more common paranormal events experienced by everyday people, as those things fall solidly into the category of the 'Unknown'. Sharing stories focused on the unknown is, and has been, E. N.'s way of communicating to the world that despite life's mundane façade, there is always something slinking about just beyond the periphery of our world which can see us clearly, and its true intentions are perhaps its most endearing qualities. Reality is an illusion that we perpetrate upon ourselves, and that which you cannot see or comprehend, is the thing you should search for with the utmost trepidation.

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      Book preview

      Miskatonic Defense League, Case File - E. N. Christian

      Miskatonic Defense League

      Case File: The Strange Occurrence at Crowley Manor

      E.N. Christian

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2017 E.N. Christian

      All rights reserved.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Allow me to express to the reader that this narrative is neither a fallacy, nor fabrication of any kind. It describes events which are, put quite literally, some of the most fantastical and amazing to ever occur in my lifetime. With brevity, I will endeavor to give a small biographical account of my beginnings in this most bizarre and unnatural line of work, to which I have dedicated my life.

      I was born Edward David Montrose in the town of Arkham, Massachusetts. The date thereof is unimportant for reasons best left to the ash bin of history, for now. My parents were Elijah and Abigail Montrose. To the more avid of historians, Elijah will be difficult to track through the official records, as he, in essence, was never granted citizenship in these United States of America. Abigail, my mother, would only appear in the occasional footnotes of other prominent Bay-Staters when the correct names are researched by would-be procurers of the purposefully obscure.

      Elijah Montrose was a Professor of Historical Studies at the University of Miskatonic, that fabled institution which has ushered so many of my predecessors into this vocation which is both secretive and yet bathed in the light of truth. My father’s dedication to the aforementioned studies, was the catalyst by which I became enamored with what is known today as 'The Cthulhu Mythos'; if you are among the uninitiated in this particular realm of knowledge, be not dismayed. The less one knows of the 'One Who Sleeps' or any of his ilk, the better; or as they say, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’

      The meager knowledge of the ancients that I had managed to collect as a child was gained strictly through stealth, as I would creep from my bed when my parents were asleep and rummage through my father’s papers for something interesting to read. The drawings and illustrations that I observed were both amazing and terrifying, but my thirst for this information only increased as I grew older. When I had finished my primary schooling and reached the age of majority, I pleaded with my father for permission to attend Miskatonic University. He balked at first, feeling that I would have a more lucrative future if I were to choose to attend Harvard, but after much brow-beating, I managed to gain his approval, and my journey into the world of shadows and terrible truths had begun.

      I attended my classes with a fervor that dwarfed that curiosity which had propelled me onto my chosen course in life, I devoured all knowledge given me regarding such subjects as The Necronomicon: its history and origins, Abdul Al-Hazred ‘the mad Arab’, The Cthulhu Mythos, and many others of that nature. Before long, I had achieved top marks in my class and was admitted to the Miskatonic Defense League, a rather secretive enclave of university graduates who spend their days endeavoring to combat the dark, cosmic forces which were encroaching upon the sovereignty of Man on Earth, as an investigator of uncommon events (which I may add, are all too common). I then spent the following 25 years of my life investigating the strange and unusual occurrences which took place around the world, as well as more well-known historic locations, including but not limited to: The Crop Circles of England, Haunted Castles of Europe, Stonehenge and The Great Pyramid of Giza. Which brings us to the present.

      We at the Miskatonic Defense League are not overly concerned with the political goings on of the world at large, unless of course it involves those unnatural and strange events mentioned above (and politically speaking, seldom has that occurred). So, when those communications seeking the greatest and sharpest minds that the world has to offer reach us, we politely refuse on the grounds of insufficient urgency. There had been a great deal of such calls in the months prior to the fateful communication we received from a Mr. Thomas Crowley in September of that year, and it did in fact concern subject matter that was found to warrant our interest, so the invitation to investigate was gladly accepted by ranking officials the League, who then sought out the most qualified investigator they had available.

      I was visiting with a colleague in Boston when a message appeared on my cell phone urging me to return to Miskatonic with haste. Being that leaving a game that was in such a progressed state would be viewed by my friend and opponent with some degree of rancor, I immediately made a foolish play on the chessboard, allowing checkmate to be called and bade him farewell as quickly and politely as I could under the circumstances. I then phoned for a taxi and made my way up route 1 towards Arkham, offering the driver an extra fifty dollars if he could manage to get me to my destination as expediently as possible; he proved himself more than up to the challenge, and I found myself passing through the main foyer of the League’s Home Office within thirty minutes of receiving the text message.

      The main foyer of the Home office is a marble and columned affair, replete with comfortable antique furniture and various ancient manuscripts and tablets hanged securely along its walls. A massive twin staircase leads to the second floor beneath which an entrance to the first floor stands in the center. It is through the latter that I entered as I made my way to the office of Mr. Malcolm Darby, who administers the various departments within the MDL; it was he who had contacted me earlier. I passed several League members along the vast hallway beyond the door, which had some twenty doorways behind which existed departments of varying subject matter; I happened to note some frantic activity within the ‘Otherworldly Artifacts’ department, but as it most likely had no bearing on the business currently awaiting my arrival, I deftly avoided the foot traffic by the door, and continued on my way. Darby’s office door was at the end of the hall, facing me as I advanced. A moment later, I stood at the door to Malcolm’s office and gave it three sharp knocks.

      Edward! Please come in, I’ve been expecting you. Malcolm Darby exclaimed in his raspy voice.

      I entered the office to find him at his desk, signing documents fervently as he attempted to rise to greet me. His waifish body seemed to slip effortlessly out of his chair without his needing to push it away from the desk. He straightened his tie and advanced with his hand outstretched to take mine.

      It was good of you to come on such short notice! His English accent broke through his adopted Yankee, as he leaned a buttock onto his desktop, motioned for me to have a seat, and clasped his hands nervously in his lap.

      It is my pleasure of course, Malcolm. I said, as I sat down.

      "Please

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