He Who Walks in Shadow Read Online Free Page A

to Anna Stanton, a wonderful girl who was the daughter of Professor Thaddeus Stanton. Rachel’s birth was cloaked in sadness, as her mother did not survive the ordeal. It was Carter’s aunt, Mrs. Gertrude Partridge, who served in her stead and guided Rachel into womanhood. And Mrs. Partridge suffered for her kindness.
    Although she had never known her, Rachel was the image of her mother in body and soul. She had the streak of rebellion that had marked Anna, and Carter encouraged her at every turn, much to the madam Partridge’s eternal disapproval and dismay. But it served the girl well, and when she came of age she followed her father’s footsteps to Miskatonic which, in keeping with its unorthodox ways, had recently begun to accept women.
    It was there that she met William.
    William Jones was one of the brightest men to come through the ancient gates of Miskatonic, and Carter and I battled over him for much of his tenure at the university. Carter could barely contain his delight when he seemed to have won him from me, though I had the last laugh when we learned that it was Carter’s assets not as a professor but rather as a father that drew the young man to his side. Rachel and Will were married in the winter of 1918. She was 18 years old.
    For a year, they were happy, and William worked at the side of Carter and myself, ostensibly as a graduate student. But on a particularly dark October night, Carter invited Will and me to his study for brandy and a cigar. It was there we informed William of our true purpose and the nature of our off-duty activities; the rumors that floated about Miskatonic were true. Forces moved in the earth, whose purpose was the end of mankind and the return of something older, something ancient, something primeval. And whether those forces were the embodiment of evil or simply so vast in their consciousness as to rate man no more than a pest to be exterminated, there could be little doubt that cohabitation on this planet was not an option. Thus, the war we fought was for the very existence of our species.
    It is perhaps remarkable that William accepted this news so readily, but I suppose that years of study at our feet had prepared him for the strange and the uncanny. He joined us willingly. The die was cast, and it wasn’t long before fate had its way.
    The letter came in October of 1919. It was addressed to Carter from a Professor Anton Denikin of the University of Moscow, though at that time he bore the title of General. I have included it, in its entirety, below:
     
    September 10, 1919
    Brother Weston, my dear compatriot,
     
    My how the years have flown, my friend. It seems only yesterday that we made plans to rendezvous at the University of Moscow and talk of our mutual interest in the forgotten corners of the world. I long for the days before the war. It has taken much from us; it will only take more.
    I write to you from Kharkov on the southern front of our war against the Bolshevik. My men have fought valiantly, but I fear we have pushed as far towards Moscow as our limited supplies will allow. I am afraid that I will never again see that city, never again walk her streets or rest within her great cathedrals, not as a free man at least. It is upon that realization that I write you now.
    As I am sure you remember, six years ago, in happier times, I spoke to you of strange tidings from the east. Long had I pondered the bizarre events on the Siberian frontier in 1908 when—as the peasants who lived to tell the tale reported—a great fire fell from the sky, night became as day, and the forest was laid waste for hundreds of miles. It piqued my curiosity, but it was another story that turned my blood cold and inspired me to extend an invitation to you then to visit me in Moscow and embark on an expedition to the area.
    It was said that from the fires that burned the river Tunguska in those days emerged an object, extracted from the smoking crater that was dug out of the frozen swamps in