: H. P. Lovecraft
: H. P. LOVECRAFT - Ultimate Collection: 120+ Works ALL in One Volume: Complete Novellas& Short Stories, Juvenilia, Poetry, Essays& Collaborations The Call of Cthulhu, The Shadow Out of Time, At the Mountains of Madness, The Dunwich Horror, Dagon, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, The Outsider, The Whisperer in Darkness, The Cats of Ulthar...
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This carefully crafted ebook: 'H. P. LOVECRAFT - Ultimate Collection: 120+ Works ALL in One Volume: Complete Novellas& Short Stories, Juvenilia, Poetry, Essays& Collaborations' is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents: Novel: The Case of Charles Dexter Ward Short Stories and Novellas: The Tomb Dagon A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson Polaris Beyond the Wall of Sleep Memory Old Bugs The Transition of Juan Romero The White Ship The Doom that Came to Sarnath The Statement of Randolph Carter The Street The Terrible Old Man The Cats of Ulthar The Tree Celephaïs From Beyond The Temple Nyarlathotep The Picture in the House Facts concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family The Nameless City The Quest of Iranon The Moon-Bog Ex Oblivione The Other Gods The Outsider The Music of Erich Zann Sweet Ermengarde Hypnos What the Moon Brings Azathoth Herbert West-Reanimator The Hound The Lurking Fear The Rats in the Walls The Unnamable The Festival The Shunned House The Horror at Red Hook He In the Vault Cool Air The Call of Cthulhu Pickman's Model The Strange High House in the Mist The Silver Key The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath The Colour Out of Space The Descendant The Very Old Folk History of the Necronomicon The Dunwich Horror Ibid The Whisperer in Darkness At The Mountains Of Madness The Shadow Over Innsmouth The Dreams in the Witch House The Thing On The Doorstep The Book The Evil Clergyman The Shadow Out of Time The Haunter of The Dark Juvenilia: The Alchemist The Beast in the Cave The Little Glass Bottle The Mysterious Ship The Mystery of the Grave-yard The Secret Cave ... Howard Phillips Lovecraft (1890-1937) was an American author who achieved posthumous fame through his influential works of horror fiction. He is now regarded as one of the most significant 20th-century authors in his genre. Some of Lovecraft's work was inspired by his own nightmares. His interest started from his childhood days when his grandfather would

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Joseph Curwen, as revealed by the rambling legends embodied in what Ward heard and unearthed, was a very astonishing, enigmatic, and obscurely horrible individual. He had fled from Salem to Providence—that universal haven of the odd, the free, and the dissenting—at the beginning of the great witchcraft panic; being in fear of accusation because of his solitary ways and queer chemical or alchemical experiments. He was a colourless-looking man of about thirty, and was soon found qualified to become a freeman of Providence; thereafter buying a home lot just north of Gregory Dexter’s at about the foot of Olney Street. His house was built on Stampers’ Hill west of the Town Street, in what later became Olney Court; and in 1761 he replaced this with a larger one, on the same site, which is still standing.

Now the first odd thing about Joseph Curwen was that he did not seem to grow much older than he had been on his arrival. He engaged in shipping enterprises, purchased wharfage near Mile-End Cove, helped rebuild the Great Bridge in 1713, and in 1723 was one of the founders of the Congregational Church on the hill; but always did he retain the nondescript aspect of a man not greatly over thirty or thirty-five. As decades mounted up, this singular quality began to excite wide notice; but Curwen always explained it by saying that he came of hardy forefathers, and practiced a simplicity of living which did not wear him out. How such simplicity could be reconciled with the inexplicable comings and goings of the secretive merchant, and with the queer gleaming of his windows at all hours of night, was not very clear to the townsfolk; and they were prone to assign other reasons for his continued youth and longevity. It was held, for the most part, that Curwen’s incessant mixings and boilings of chemicals had much to do with his condition. Gossip spoke of the strange substances he brought from London and the Indies on his ships or purchased in Newport, Boston, and New York; and when old Dr. Jabez Bowen came from Rehoboth and opened his apothecary shop across the Great Bridge at the Sign of the Unicorn and Mortar, there was ceaseless talk of the drugs, acids, and metals that the taciturn recluse incessantly bought or ordered from him. Acting on the assumption that Curwen possessed a wondrous and secret medical skill, many sufferers of various sorts applied to him for aid; but though he appeared to encourage their belief in a non-committal way, and always gave them odd-coloured potions in response to their requests, it was observed that his ministrations to others seldom proved of benefit. At length, when over fifty years had passed since the stranger’s advent, and without producing more than five years’ apparent change in his face and physique, the people began to whisper more darkly; and to meet more than half way that desire for isolation which he had always shewn.

Private letters and diaries of the period reveal, too, a multitude of other reasons why Joseph Curwen was marvelled at, feared, and finally shunned like a plague. His passion for graveyards, in which he was glimpsed at all hours and under all conditions, was notorious; though no one had witnessed any deed on his part which could actually be termed ghoulish. On the Pawtuxet Road he had a farm, at which he generally lived during the summer, and to which he would frequently be seen riding at various odd times of the day or night. Here his only visible servants, farmers, and caretakers were a sullen pair of aged Narragansett Indians; the husband dumb and curiously scarred, and the wife of a very repulsive cast of countenance, probably due to a mixture of negro blood. In the lean-to of this house was the laboratory where most of the chemical experiments were conducted. Curious porters and teamers who delivered bottles, bags, or boxes at the small rear door would exchange accounts of the fantastic flasks, crucibles, alembics, and furnaces they saw in the low shelved room; and prophesied in whispers that the close-mouthed “chymist”—by which they meantalchemist—would not be long in finding the Philosopher’s Stone. The nearest neighbours to this farm—the Fenners, a quarter of a mile away—had still queerer things to tell of certain sounds which they insisted came from the Curwen place in the night. There were cries, they said, and sustained howlings; and they did not like the large number of livestock which thronged the pastures, for no such amount was needed to keep a lone old man and a very few servants in meat, milk, and wool. The identity of the stock seemed to change from week to week as new droves were purchased from the Kingstown farmers. Then, too, there was something very obnoxious about a certain great stone outbuilding with only high narrow slits for windows.

Great Bridge idlers likewise had much to say of Curwen’s town house in Olney Court; not so much the fine new one built in 1761, when the man must have been nearly a century old, but the first low gambrel-roofed one with the windowless attic and shingled sides, whose timbers he took the peculiar precaution of burning after its demolition. Here there was less mystery, it is true; but the hours at which lights were seen, the secretiveness of the two swarthy foreigners who comprised the only menservants, the hideous indistinct mumbling of the incredibly aged French housekeeper, the large amounts of food seen to enter a door within which only four persons lived, and thequality of certain voices often heard in muffled conversation at highly unseasonable