[11] To Robert Bloch

Sealed Tower of N'Kung—

Hour of the Signal from the Dark Nebula
(c. August 19-20, 1933)
Dear Bho-BIôk:—
(...)
You astonish me when you say you dream
but twice a year. I can never drop off for a sec­
ond—not even in my easy-chair or over my desk—
without having dreams of the most vivid sort; not
always bizarre or fantastic, but always clear-cut &
lifelike. I seldom dream of recent every-day
things, but tend to hark back 30 years or more to
my boyhood—which was by all odds the happiest
period of my existence. In nine dreams out of ten
I am a kid in short trousers at my birthplace, with
my mother, grandfather, & other departed kins­
folk & friends alive. Usually the general setting
is quite consistent—horses & carriages, little
street-cars with open platforms, Etc.—though
occasionally modern elements are illogically
interpolated into the 1903 atmosphere. At other
times modern events are adapted or reconciled
to the 1903 period in a way that would be
extremely clever if it were conscious work. But
besides these comparatively mundane dreams I

34. This dream was the nucleus of the spurious "frag­

ment". “The Thing in the Moonlight", first published in
Bizarre for January 1941. The "fragment" was in fact a
compilation by the editor of Bizarre, J. Chapman Miske,
who added introductory and concluding paragraphs to the
dream-account. After August Derleth printed the "frag­
ment" in Marginalia, Miske told him of the nature of the
text; but Derleth continued reprinting the piece as the
work of Lovecraft. See David E. Schultz, "The Thing in the
Moonlight': A Hoax Revealed", Crypt of Cthulhu No. 53
(Candlemas 1988): 12-13.
occasionally have boldly fantastic ones which
make good weird-fictional material. Only last
night I was with a party of silent, apprehensive
men armed with some peculiar occult device like
an ankh or crux ansata—climbing up ladders &
picking a precarious way over the huddled, sag­
ging roofs of a rotting & incredibly ancient town,
in search of a vague being of infinite & immortal
evil which had been afflicting the inhabitants.
Once—in the light of a leprous, waning moon—
we saw It .... a black, large-eared, crouching
thing about the size of a large dog, & roughly
resembling one of the Notre-Dame gargoyles. In
the end It escaped us in a peculiar fashion. Our
leader, it seemed, was a very distinguished look­
ing young man on horseback, who did not climb
up to the roofs as we did at his orders. All at
once, as we chased the Thing from roof to roof &
made It cringe at the sight of our shining metal
ankh, It spread rudimentary bat-wings &
launched Itself at our leader as he bestrode his
pawing horse far below us. Looking down, we
saw the Blasphemy merge Itself plastically & hid­
eously with the handsome form of the mounted
captain, till in an instant there was but one being
where two had been .... a shocking hybrid
Thing clad in the silken robe of our captain, yet
having in lieu of a face only the black, large­
eared snout of the evil entity. It looked up &
leered—squealing things we could not under­
stand—& then galloped off on the horse that had
been our leader's. We were in confusion—clam­
bering bewilderedly down to the snowless but
slightly frozen ground—when I awaked.35 That's
all there was to it—not enough for a story, but
typical of the sort of dream I have every week or
so—or perhaps twice a week. This kind of dream­
ing is not as rare as one might think—I suppose
you know that Edward Lucas White derives virtu­
ally all his strange & highly original stories from
actual dreams he has experienced. Did I tell you
of the dreams I had at the age of six, when I used
to encounter a flock of bat-winged entities to
which I gave the name of "night-gaunts"? I may
add that all I know of dreams seems to contra­
35. J. Vernon Shea incorporated this dream into his tale
"The Snouted Thing", in In Search of Lovecraft (West War­
wick, Rl: Necronomicon Press. 1991), pp. 25-28.
dict flatly the "symbolism" theories of Freud. It
may be that others, with less sheer phantasy fill­
ing their minds, have dreams of the Freudian
sort; but it is very certain that I don't.
{...}
Yrs in the Black Rite of Yaddith
-E'ch-Pi-EI
[12] To Clark Ashton Smith
Primal Basalt Ridge over the black
& oily River Gner.
Time of the Bulbous Shape's passage up-stream.
Oct. 3, 1933
Dear Klarkash-Ton:—
{. . .} By the way—I had a hell of a dream
lately, which so impressed our young friend Bho-Blôk
that he's going to write a story about it. I
seemed to be clambering over the steep tiled
roofs of ancient gabled houses in a mediaeval
town by full moonlight, in company with some
15 or 20 other men under the direction of a
young officer in a silken robe who shouted
orders from the ground—where he sat on a great
black horse. We were all in a costume which
could not have been later than the 15th century­
hose, tight jacket, round-cut hair, & peaked cap
with feather. We were hunting desperately for
some Thing of primal evil which was infesting
the town, & against which all exorcisms had
proved vain. As weapons we had a kind of shin­
ing metal talisman like an Egyptian ankh—nearly
everyone being so armed. We held our ankhs
high up in our right hands, & as far from us as
possible. After an endless lapse of time we actu­
ally nosed the Thing out & began closing in on It
with our ankhs, of which It was obviously afraid.
We, though, were even more afraid. It was a
black, rubbery Thing with bat-wings & a queer
face like an owl's—about the size of a large dog.
It began to cheep & titter hellishly when we
scrambled closer to encircle It as It crouched
against a hugh stack chimney. One man had a
great net in which he evidently hoped to bag It.
Then suddenly It soared up out of our reach on
those evil bat wings which we had thought
merely rudimentary & unusable—& darted diz
zingly toward the ground. Or rather, toward our
leader as he sat on his horse. The officer gave
one great cry—but the Thing was on him. As It
touched. It began to coalesce hideously with Its
victim, so that within a moment there bestrode
that great black horse a nameless hybrid in the
robe & cap of our leader, but with the accursed,
owl-like black face of that malign spawn of the
pit. At last—as we paused in a paralysis of fear—
It put spurs to Its horse & began galloping
away—turning only once to emit that monstrous
titter. Then It was gone—& I awaked. That was
all. Not enough for a story, though I am curious
to see what little Bloch will make of it.

Yrs for the 7th Rune of Eibon—

E'ch-Pi-EI

36. This is the dream that has now come to be titled "The
Evil Clergyman". Cf. HPL to Clark Ashton Smith. 22 Octo­
ber 1933: "Some months ago I had a dream of an evil cler­
gyman in a garret full of forbidden books, and of how he
changed his personality with a visitor. Fra Bernardus [Ber­
nard Austin Dwyer] is urging me to make a story of it" (SL
IV.289-90). It was Dwyer who made the excerpt and sent
it to Weird Tales, where it was published (April 1939) as
"The Wicked Clergyman". The letter itself is now unavail­
able, and the text has been derived from the Weird Tales
appearance.