It Speaks Volumes

            Like many great discoveries, it was hidden right in plain sight. John Daniels couldn’t believe it when he saw it sitting there on the book shelf like any other book. It could have been a copy of the latest Danielle Steel or Stephen King for all the bookseller knew or cared, but it wasn’t. It was the Holy Grail of H. P. Lovecraft collectibles, THE OUTSIDER AND OTHERS. Published by Arkham House in 1939. This was the first important collection of Lovecraft stories and was the one book that every Lovecraft collector wanted in their library. It was as if it had just arrived from the printer. So perfect was it that Daniels had to check it over twice and make sure that it wasn’t just a reprint but it wasn’t. It was the 1939 edition and it was priced at a mere $50.

            It was the find of the century for Daniels. Something that he would be able to tell all of his fellow Lovecraftians about in the years to come and watch them turn green with envy. Then he noticed the flaw. Undoubtedly, it was because of this that it was marked so low. On nearly every page, someone had made notations. They were written in what looked like some old time ink on some pages, but others looked as if they were made by ball point pen but they were all in the same spidery script. Still, it was THE OUTSIDER and one didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Daniels brought the book to the counter, held his breath while the clerk rang it up (a mousy little girl who couldn’t care less what it was she rang up or what price it was), handed over his money and exited the store. Even then, he had the fear that someone would run out after him, shouting that they had made a mistake, but no one came out as Daniels climbed into his car and made his getaway.

            When he got home, Daniels finally took the time to look it over. Even with the notations, it was a beautiful book. The pages were still white and the book cover looked brand-new. Daniels knew that the book cover alone would have been worth several hundred dollars in this type of condition. Happily, he sat down to read through the book when he noticed something else. The handwriting on the notations looked familiar. He had certainly seen it before but where? Had one of his fellow Lovecraftians fallen on hard times and sold their copy? No, they certainly wouldn’t have let such a cherished item go so cheaply. He had to have seen it somewhere else. As a thought occurred to him, a chill went up his spine. He ran to his bookshelves and tore down several of his volumes. With a thrill, he realized that he was right. He had seen the handwriting before. It was H. P. Lovecraft’s handwriting and the book was marked with his own notations.

            It was impossible, of course. Lovecraft died in Providence in 1937 of stomach cancer. That was a full two years before the book was even published. How, then, could he have made notations in this book? A book he never lived to see published? It had to be some sort of a hoax, Daniels thought, like that Jack the Ripper diary a few years before. But if it had been a hoax, for what purpose? No one had ever mentioned this book before nor tried to extort any fame or profit from it so why bother? Daniels sat down and started to read the notes. That was when things started to get fantastic.

            The notes were critical of the stories and the editing. Corrections were made for spelling and editing but there was more. Notes stated things like, “It didn’t happen that way.” “Rewrite this section to better reflect Akeley’s notes.” “Armitage described it differently.” Daniels was so engrossed that he barely heard the knock on the door. Answering it, he found a tall, thin figure standing there who was clothed in a large, old style overcoat with a hat that covered his face.

            “Mr. Daniels,” the figure said, it’s voice was a high pitched New England tone. “I understand that you may be in possession of something of mine. Ah, yes, you are holding it now. My apologies. It was mistakenly sold to a fool of a bookseller. I would very much like to have it back.” Daniels, in a state of mental confusion, felt that he had no choice and handed the book back to the figure. “I thank you, good sir, for making this easier for both of us. I trust that this will make up for the inconvenience you have suffered,” and he handed over a few gold coins with strange markings on them.

            Dawning on him what was actually happening, Daniels asked a question that he already knew the answer to. “Yes, I am he,” the figure responded, “but I cannot answer anything else, Mr. Daniels. Just take it from me that it is not good to want knowledge too badly. Some things come with too high a price and eternal life in this world is not worth much of anything.” With that, the figure walked back into the darkness and Daniels never saw him again.

            The next day, Daniels sold all of his Lovecraft books at bargain prices.