Madness at Arkham

Meeting Lee in Maine

Upon returning to Arkham, the group discovered that they had a letter waiting for them in care of Professor Peale.

*Salk Harbour, Maine

I do not know of your current whereabouts, so I have sent this letter to your contact at Miskatonic and asked him to forward it to you. I apologize that I have not contacted you directly since the dreadful and bloody affair at the Look to the Future event in New York. I have been reading of your exploits in the newspapers and wish intently to see you.

As you know, I have some slight occult knowledge myself, and am aware of the danger that you are all in from the Silver Twilight. Please: accept the enclosed train tickets to come and meet me immediately in Salk Harbour, Maine. I would be very happy to lend my considerable resources to help defend the world against the monstrous evil of the Elder Ones. I expect you shortly.

Your friend,

David Lee*

The group took the train up to Salk Harbor, where they disembarked, rented a large car and drove the short distance to David Lee’s house. David and his housekeeper welcomed them and over dinner, David came to the purpose of his invitation"

“Fifty years ago, a man named Clarence Woodie lived north of town. He had a reputation for being an evil and vengeful man. He would kick dogs to death for snapping at him. He would poison a neighbor’s sheep if it stepped onto his land. He never married, but adopted three boys from the county orphanage. He raised them in his evil ways, and they were as wicked as he, I
dare say. “When he suddenly died, the boys found a tin box stuffed with money under his bed. They
claimed that they came upon it by accident. The townsfolk did not believe this story, and neither
did the police, who arrested the lads on a charge of smothering their foster father for his money. All three were hanged — they were in their early twenties by then — and they were buried in unmarked graves. Then a strange thing happened. The person who bought the Woodie house was found dead with a rope burn about his throat, as if he had been hung! Only he was found lying in his bed, with no rope at hand.

“Later on, several other people, including two tramps, also died in that house, their throats mysteriously marked by rope as though from a hangman’s knot. I think, and I feel you may
agree with me, that the damned spirits of Woodie’s boys lingered about that house, murdering
whoever stayed there too long.

“Finally, no one would enter that house, and it fell into disrepair. Thus it remained for over forty years. But last year a person came to town who had once belonged to the Silver Twilight and he bought the land on which the old house stood. He did not sleep in the place, but villagers whispered that he performed strange acts there, and that he was trying to invoke or tame the haunts that lived there. His name was Malcolm Smith. In any case, I spied on him trying to
converse with the house’s ghosts. When I saw the wraiths themselves speak with him, I fainted
dead away!

“I contacted you because I’ve guessed what Mr. Smith was trying to do. He realized that the haunts had a powerful magical aura, and he was trying to tap it for some magical act He was actually weakening the ghosts — not to destroy them, but to steal their energy to perform magic. Smith disappeared just before I fell ill. Even though weakened, the specters managed to
destroy the man who was vampirizing them. When I listened to their conversation, this is what
I heard:

“‘Ye fiends of night! Ye ghosts of the damned
dead! Ye spirits of evil and sin! Come! Come!
Come and yield up your criminal power to me!
Free your weakening resolve from this place of
your crimes, and release your energy! Reinforce
me with the magic and power of your being! I
must wax and you must wane! Strengthen me at
your despair!’

“That’s what Malcolm Smith chanted. Then, the faint ghost of a man, its head lolling at one side as though the neck was cracked, appeared. “‘Depart from us,’ said the ghost. ‘Leave us be
. . . cease tormenting our pains and anguish . . . leave us or let us feast upon your fear, as we
have done to others . . . sacrifice yourself to our hunger or depart from our horror . . . .’

“At this point Malcolm suddenly turned away, the ghost gave a mournful wail, and I fainted.
Would you please take up where I left off? The ghosts are weaker now; not even the villagers at
their most superstitious now feel that they are active. They still may be able to harm you, so
take care. If Malcolm Smith did indeed die in that haunted house, he may have left interesting manuscripts or incriminating data about the organization he devoted his life to — the Silver Twilight.

“I found out about his membership in the Silver Twilight when I saw Carl Stanford speaking with him three weeks before Smith disappeared. We need to stop whatever it is they are doing here before it’s too late!"

The next morning, the investigators split into two groups, with one researching the murder and the others scouting out the cabin in the woods. The researchers to their surprise were not able to locate any information at all on the murder. The scouting group, on the other hand, was ambushed by gunmen as it stepped out the car and walked towards the cabin. One man fired at them from the roof and the other from behind a tree. They scattered for cover, but Little Orchid was hit by gunfire and crawled towards the house to avoid the gunman’s line of sight. Alistair ran for cover behind the car and the Professor opened fire from behind a tree, hitting and killing the second man on the ground. Alistair jumped into the car as the man on the roof blew out the windshield with a .45 caliber slug. He began driving towards the house to retrieve Little Orchid while the Professor ran to the car while shooting towards the roof. In a series of comic mishaps, the car hit the Professor and dragged her and then almost ran into the cabin. Alistair regained control of the car, pulled Little Orchid and the Professor to safety and sped off while several .45 slugs slammed into the car.

Meanwhile, back in town, the pilot Robbie had developed a dreadful stomach flu and was very ill. The other investigators searched through the house while David Lee was in town on business and found a letter from Karl Stanford hidden in a desk in the attic. Beginning to suspect that something was seriously amiss with David Lee, they searched the rest of the house and discovered a gaunt David Lee hidden in a sea-chest in the basement! The knew they had to act fast: whoever (or whatever) the David Lee impostor was, he would be back any minute. They decided to ambush him as soon as he stepped out of his car to enter the house. Madame Fri Fri positioned herself in a nearby tree and the rest of the group secreted themselves in the foyer.

“David Lee” returned to the house and true to plan, Madame Fri Fri opened fire on him as soon as he neared the porch. She struck him in the shoulder and at that moment Lee’s face melted away and was replaced by that of Max Reed, Karl Stanford’s bodyguard. Reed drew his gun quickly while another shot whizzed by. He took aim and shot Madame Fri Fri, killing her. Alistair and Robbie opened fire with shotguns, blowing apart the porch and killing Max Reed.

They decided to ship Madame Fri Fri’s body back to Arkham and put it on deep freeze until they could spring Professor Woodhouse from the Arkham Asylum or learn the resurrect spell themselves.



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