Smoldering Zombies and Elder Gods

Dearest readers,

I apologize for my absence last week. You know kids and the 4th of July celebrations. It always takes me a week or so to find all the smoldering zombies and put them out. And now, I return you to letters from people weirder than you.

Sincerely,

Winifred

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Dear Winifred,

I greatly fear our little New England village has fallen under a curse!

A disaster struck out little church last Sunday in the middle of services. The supplicants we'd captured the week before were lined up, according to blood type, and Reverend Arthur had commenced the usual invocation when out of the blue, the altar emitted a loud moan and collapsed. Something very much like sheet lightning lashed through the building, killing all the supplicants, stunning half the congregation and setting the pews on fire. We rescued whom we could and rushed outside.

Once we were all outside, a mephitic, gelatinous mass emerged from a sinkhole and engulfed Reverend Arthur. The poor fellow uttered one thin little scream before disappearing beneath the surface. The ground had barely sealed over his much loved grey head when a gigantic crow flew overhead. It befouled us as we huddled in our misery, and swooped down to snatch Goody Harkin from the comforting arms of her husband. The force must have broken her neck. She made no sound as she was carried off into the clouds.

As the oldest surviving parishioner, I was appointed to deliver the grim news to the bishop. Much to my dismay, he started chittering and making clumsy pawing motions with his hands. Just as I turned to leave, he ripped the flesh off his head to reveal a hideous rodent's face. Needle sharp fangs glistened in his mouth as he advanced. I brained him with my walking stick and fled.

What on earth could have gone wrong? The scope of the disaster precludes the usual forensic measures; not one of us is qualified to read entrails and even if one could, we have no supplicants left.

Please shed some light on this mystery, Lady Kensington-Smythe, for it seems as though our traditional way of life is coming to a ghastly end!

Timor Mortis


Dear Tim,

May I just take a moment to say how much I've enjoyed your appearance in verse, rhyme and gravestones? Your family does lovely work.

As to the issue at hand, I've found that once the Shoggoth show up, the party is generally over. If the Byakhee (not to be confused with the Bakshi) start carrying people off, then not only is the party over, but the maids are trying to clean up around you. I know you mentioned a crow...but in these times of chaos and despair, it's often easy to mistake one flying predator from another. Especially while one's pastor is being eaten by pets of the Primordial Ones.

Running out of supplicants does complicate issues...but I think we can work around it. I can think of a couple solutions that may still save your hamlet and it's unique way of life. There's always the "tao of the child" method...which would be to put your hands in your pockets, whistle nonchalantly, wander aimlessly away from the pit of evil for a few feet, then run like hell and never look back. It's a big ol country, you can rebuild. Or, get an elder sign. (Yes, I do realize the inherent difficulty, but I'm not the one who let Nyarlathotep loose, am I?) Try using said elder sign to patch up and seal that little dimensional rift you seem to have caused. If that doesn't work, you could always try using the Necrominicon to banish the beasties back to where they belong. Of course, you'll probably go insane and try to eat your own face...but these are the risks one takes when one plays with godlike anthromoporphic goo.

Best of luck,

Winifred

Send letters, queries, questions, and small tasteful jewels to Dear Winifred.