1920
The Terrible Old Man, 1920
The Tree, 1920
The Moon-Bog, 1921
The Music of Erich Zann, 1921
The Nameless City, 1921
The Other Gods, 1921
The Outsider, 1921
The Quest of Iranon, 1921
Herbert West: Reanimator, 1921-1922
The Hound, 1922
Hypnos, 1922
The Lurking Fear, 1922
The Festival, 1923
The Rats in the Walls, 1923
The Unnamable, 1923
Imprisoned with the Pharaohs, 1924
The Shunned House, 1924
He, 1925
The Horror at Red Hook, 1925
In the Vault, 1925
The Call of Cthulhu, 1926
Cool Air, 1926
Pickman’s Model, 1926
The Silver Key, 1926
The Strange High House in the Mist, 1926
The Colour out of Space, 1927
The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, 1927-1928
The Dunwich Horror, 1928
The Whisperer in Darkness, 1930
The Shadow over Innsmouth, 1931
At the Mountains of Madness, 1931
The Dreams in the Witch-House, 1932
Through the Gates of the Silver Key, 1932
The Thing on the Doorstep, 1933
The Shadow out of Time, 1934
In the Walls of Eryx, 1935
The Haunter of the Dark, 1935
The Evil Clergyman, 1937
Even a casual examination of the chronological list indicates that Lovecraft did not work exclusively in one vein and then grow into another. Though early given to Dunsanian tales, this vein persisted well after the first stories in the Cthulhu Mythos had been written, and the New England horror fiction was subsumed into the Mythos. Undeniably, the period of his most consistent quality in fiction was the decade from 1925 through 1935, and it is evident that death came to him in March, 1937 at the height of his creative power.
To the stories in this collection has been added Lovecraft’s outstanding work in non-fiction, the long essay Supernatural Horror in Fiction, written in 1926-1927, and first published in W. Paul Cook’s The Recluse in 1927. It was subsequently revised in large part, and was being reprinted as a serial in The Fantasy Fan from 1933 through February 1935, when the magazine was discontinued, and Lovecraft’s revision of the work lapsed. It is a scholarly study that will afford readers some index to Lovecraft’s judgment of authors and their works in the genre of the macabre before and of his time.
AUGUST DERLETH
Sauk City, Wisconsin
1 March 1965
I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below. Do not think from my slavery to morphine that I am a weakling or a degenerate. When you have read these hastily scrawled pages you may guess, though never fully realize, why it is that I must have forgetfulness or death.
It was in one of the most open and least frequented parts of the broad Pacific that the packet of which I was supercargo fell a victim to the German sea-raider. The great war was then at its very beginning, and the ocean forces of the Hun had not completely sunk to their later degradation; so that our vessel was made a legitimate prize, whilst we of her crew were treated with all the fairness and consideration due us as naval prisoners. So liberal, indeed, was the discipline of our captors, that five days after we were taken I managed to escape alone in a small boat with water and provisions for a good length of time.
When I finally found myself adrift and free, I had but little idea of my surroundings. Never a competent navigator, I could only guess vaguely by the sun and stars that I was somewhat south of the equator. Of the longitude I knew nothing, and no island or coastline was in sight. The weather kept fair, and for uncounted days I drifted aimlessly beneath the scorching sun; waiting either for some passing ship, or to be cast on the shores of some habitable land. But neither ship nor land appeared, and I began to despair in my solitude upon the heaving vastness of unbroken blue.
The change happened whilst I slept. Its details I shall never know; for my slumber, though troubled and dream-infested, was continuous. When at last I awaked, it was to discover myself half sucked into a slimy expanse of hellish black mire which extended about me in monotonous undulations as far as I could see, and in which my boat lay grounded some distance away.
Though one might well imagine that my first sensation would be of wonder at so prodigious and unexpected a transformation of scenery, I was in reality more horrified than astonished; for there was in the air and in the rotting soil a sinister quality which chilled me to the very core. The region was putrid with the carcasses of decaying fish, and of other less describable things which I saw protruding from the nasty mud of the unending plain. Perhaps I should not hope to convey in mere words the unutterable hideousness that can dwell in absolute silence and barren immensity. There was nothing within hearing, and nothing in sight save a vast reach of black slime; yet the very completeness of the stillness and the homogeneity of the landscape oppressed me with a nauseating fear.
The sun was blazing down from a sky which seemed to me almost black in its cloudless cruelty; as though reflecting the inky marsh beneath my feet. As I crawled into the stranded boat I realized that only one theory could explain my position. Through some unprecedented volcanic upheaval, a portion of the ocean floor must have been thrown to the surface, exposing regions which for innumerable millions of years had lain hidden under unfathomable watery depths. So great was the extent of the new land which had risen beneath me, that I could not detect the faintest noise of the surging ocean, strain my ears as I might. Nor were there any sea-fowl to prey upon the dead things.
For several hours I sat thinking or brooding in the boat, which lay upon its side and afforded a slight shade as the sun moved across the
