Watch “The Horror at the Museum | Arkham Horror 2nd Edition | Turn 11: The Dying of the Light,” a gameplay video for Arkham Horror on BoardGameVideo.
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Rogers actually licked his lips, while Jones held himself uneasily rigid. The showman paused and rose, crossing the room to the piece of burlap at which he had glanced so often. Bending down, he took hold of one corner as he spoke again.
“You’ve laughed enough at my work—now it’s time for you to get some facts. Orabona tells me you heard a dog screaming around here this afternoon. Do you know what that meant?”
Jones started. For all his curiosity he would have been glad to get out without further light on the point which had so puzzled him. But Rogers was inexorable and began to lift the square of burlap. Beneath it lay a crushed, almost shapeless mass which Jones was slow to classify. Was it a once-living thing which some agency had flattened, sucked dry of blood, punctured in a thousand places, and wrung into a limp, broken-boned heap of grotesqueness? After a moment Jones realised what it must be. It was what was left of a dog—a dog, perhaps of considerable size and whitish colour. Its breed was past recognition, for distortion had come in nameless and hideous ways. Most of the hair was burned off as by some pungent acid, and the exposed, bloodless skin was riddled by innumerable circular wounds or incisions. The form of torture necessary to cause such results was past imagining.
Electrified with a pure loathing which conquered his mounting disgust, Jones sprang up with a cry.
“You damned sadist—you madman—you do a thing like this and dare to speak to a decent man!”
Rogers dropped the burlap with a malignant sneer and faced his oncoming guest. His words held an unnatural calm.
“Why, you fool, do you think I did this? Let us admit that the results are unbeautiful from our limited human standpoint. What of it? It is not human and does not pretend to be. To sacrifice is merely to offer. I gave the dog to It. What happened is Its work, not mine. It needed the nourishment of the offering and took it in Its own way. But let me shew you what It looks like.”
As Jones stood hesitating, the speaker returned to his desk and took up the photograph he had laid face down without shewing. Now he extended it with a curious look. Jones took it and glanced at it in an almost mechanical way. After a moment the visitor’s glance became sharper and more absorbed, for the utterly satanic force of the object depicted had an almost hypnotic effect. Certainly, Rogers had outdone himself in modelling the eldritch nightmare which the camera had caught. The thing was a work of sheer, infernal genius, and Jones wondered how the public would react when it was placed on exhibition. So hideous a thing had no right to exist—probably the mere contemplation of it, after it was done, had completed the unhinging of its maker’s mind and led him to worship it with brutal sacrifices. Only a stout sanity could resist the insidious suggestion that the blasphemy was—or had once been—some morbid and exotic form of actual life.
~ The Horror in the Museum by H. P. Lovecraft (for Hazel Heald)
“Curse of the Scarab” by Kevin Macleod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: by Attribution 4.0 licence http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Wolfpack 48’s Arkham Horror Thematic Scenario Project: https://rpggeek.com/filepage/136757/arkham-horror-thematic-scenario-project