The Picture in the House

I had been traveling for some time among the people of Miskatonic Valley

in search of certain genealogical data

and due to the remote

devious and problematical nature of my course

deemed it necessary to imploy a bicycle

despite the lateness of the season

and I was driven one afternoon by an oncoming storm of such chilling copiousness

that any shelter was preferable to exposure

at the end of an apparently abandoned road

which I had chosen as the shortest cut to Arkham

I soon found myself lost in the wilderness

It appeared that I would be overtaken by the impending storm

at a point far from any town

with no refuge

had I not stumbled upon

this antique and repellant house

in the middle of nowhere

I had somehow taken it for granted the house was abandoned

yet I was not so sure

as I surveyed this quaint apartment

I felt a strong aversion

just what it was I feared

I could not define

But something seemed redollant

of unhallowed age

unpleasant crudeness

and secrets

that should be forgotten

what interested me was the uniform air of archaism

as displayed in every visible detail

most of the houses in this region

I had found rich in relics of the past

but here the antiquity was curiously complete

had the furnishings been less humble

the place would have been a collector's paradise

The Anziques of the Congo...

they believed by eating human flesh and blood

they could live forever

Ketch'd ya in the rain, b'ya?

I apologized for entering his home in this manner

and explained that I was on my way to Arkham