
Journal of Simon Grimsby, first entry:
Today is my first day as caretaker for this museum's older exhibits, having taken over from a Mr. Canter. I haven't been able to find out exactly why Mr. Canter left his position, oddly enough. His coworkers seem oddly reluctant to discuss the subject. Perhaps I shall discover something in his notes and work area.
Journal of Simon Grimsby, second entry:
It has been several days since my last entry, and for that I apologize. But such things I have discovered in those days! Mr. Canter did not quit, he was committed! I finally managed to get the full tale from one of the old caretaker's coworkers, and a gruesome thing it was. Apparently, he had been researching a new shipment of artifacts shortly before the trouble started. Perhaps I should follow my earlier plan of checking through his work...
Journal of Simon Grimsby, third entry:
I find myself unsettled. Either Mr. Canter was deranged before anyone ever realized how far his condition had progressed, or... No, there's no way something like that could be true. Things like that simply don't exist in this world.
.....Do they?
And who is this "Nyarlethotep" that Canter keeps referencing? No god or king that I've ever heard of in my studies has that name... Some lost pharaoh, perhaps?
Journal of Simon Grimsby, fourth entry:
I have found the artifacts that Mr. Canter was researching. Ugly little things, many of them rather damaged. I doubt there's any real value to any of them, although I know I've seen some of those markings before. Probably someone's idea of a joke, gone horribly wrong when it reached an unstable individual. Poor Mr. Canter.
...I swear that pot just moved. But that's silly. Besides, the lid's of a solid piece with the rest of the pot. There's no way anything could be alive in there.
It's these long hours. Perhaps I should take a holiday...
Journal of Simon Grimsby, fifth entry:
I've managed to gain the permission of the head curator to begin the auction of the "artifacts" in question, after having determined that they originate from no known culture and are probably forgeries. Oddly enough, he didn't seem too terribly upset by the idea.
Maybe now those damn books will stop staring at me.
What am I thinking?! Bah. I'm letting the old man's scribbled nonsense get to me. "Sleeping Ones" indeed!
<< Here, the journal entries end abruptly.>>
~~~*~*~*^*~*~*~~~
Journal of Ryrleon Grimsby, March 20, 1933
Well, I'm finally here in Arkham... the train ride was truly atrocious, but I suppose it was better than other means. I've explored the archives, but there's neither sign of foul play nor sign my brother has been here in months; everything is covered in dust, and it's quite the shambles. One of the professors at the nearby University says he believes he'd gone to Egypt for some reason, but should be back in time; I suppose I will simply have to deal with matters then, until his return.
On going through his belongings, I located a slip from the master curator indicating that some 'items of dubious provenance' are to be sold to help finance the museum... I suppose I'd best get on that. I do wish they weren't quite so ugly... I hope someone will actually purchase them!
I wonder who made them...
~~~*~*~*^*~*~*~~~
There are things in this reality that man was not meant to know. Things that man cannot even see, for to see them would be to destroy his most frail grip on sanity. One can only see what their mind can handle, after all. But they are there, seen or not. The Shoggoth, the Hound of Tindalos... the list goes on, hinted at through myth and legend. The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones will ever be.
Within the Arkham Archives reside some of these 'things'. The Sleeping Ones have been buried in time, passed through the ages with fear and trepidation, their handlers hoping that they shall never live to see the day of awakening. But one such handler was too weak, the burden too much, and he broke under the strain. Now... now the Sleeping Ones are watched by one that does not know what they are. And now, disquieted by what he suspects and pushed on by urges he does not understand, this man seeks to send the Sleepers away from himself, misunderstanding or ignoring the warnings his predecessor tried to leave.
You are one of the few to come into the possession of one of Sleeping Ones. Will you harness its power to your will, or will it awaken and consume you, as so many dark prophecies foretell?