The Shadow over Insmoth by H.P. Lovecraft.

Red by Mike Bennett.

Chapter 3

It must have been some imp of the perverse or some sardonic pull from dark hidden sources

which made me change my plans as I did.

I had long before resolved to limit my observations to architecture alone,

and I was even then hurrying toward the square in an effort to get quick transportation out of this festering city of death and decay.

But the sight of old Zadok Islands set up new currents in my mind and made me slacken my pace uncertainly.

I had been assured that the old man could do nothing but hint at wild disjointed and incredible legends, and I had been warned that the natives

made it unsafe to be seen talking with him.

Yet the thought of this aged witness to the town's decay, with memories going back to the early days

of ships and factories, was allure that no amount of reason could make me resist.

After all, the strangest and maddest of myths are often merely symbols or allegories based upon truth,

and old Zadok must have seen everything which went on around

Insmith for the last 90 years. Curiosity flared up beyond sense and caution, and in my youthful egotism I fancied I might

be able to sift a nucleus of real history from the confused, extravagant outpouring I would probably extract with the aid of raw whiskey.

I knew that I could not accost him then and there, for the fireman would surely notice and object.

Instead, I reflected, I would prepare by getting some bootleg liquor at a place where the

grocery boy had told me it was plentiful.

Then I would loaf near the fire station in apparent

casualness and fall in with old Zadok after he had started on one of his frequent

rambles. The youth had said that he was very restless, seldom sitting around

...