Each Halloween, I like to run one-off Call of Cthulhu scenarios for my group. I have never attempted a Cthulhu campaign, but I have run a handful of sessions thus far. This year, I ran a story of my own devising. In the past, I haven’t incorporated many elements of the mythos. This year, I was determined to immerse them in it as much as possible.

The Players

Andy – My brother. Everything he learned about the mythos, he learned through the Call of Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth video game, and Arkham Horror. He plays the role of Christopher Harris, a student at Miskatonic University in this session.

Brandon – My friend. His only experience with Lovecraft was through the two games of Arkham Horror that he played prior to this. He is playing Sam O’Meara, a beat cop in Arkham.

Lisa – My wife. She is forced to listen to my frequent ramblings about Lovecraft’s work. She still doesn’t know a Shoggoth from a Necronomicon, though. She played Francine Duvall, an assistant to the resident professor of theology at Miskatonic, Reginald Harris.

Act 1 – A Murder at Miskatonic

1926, Miskatonic University, Arkham

Francine, researching in the library late into the early hours of morning, suddenly heard a blood-chilling scream from the professor’s study down the hall. She rushed to the study, concerned that the professor was there at this late hour. He had been growing more and more eccentric over the past few weeks, and she had not seen him often since that time. He was not an outgoing man to begin with. He was divorced, with an estranged son on this very campus, of whom he saw little.

Now, as she reached the door to the study, her hands trembled. She knocked on the door softly.

She spoke, her voice trembling as much as her hands, “Professor? Are you there? It’s Francine.”

As she said this, she heard the shattering of glass from within the room. She cautiously opened the door, revealing a gruesome sight. The professor was lying on the floor, in a pool of his own blood. Buried deep within his chest was a dagger. One hand appeared to have been trying to remove the blade, while the other appeared to be grasping a crumpled piece of paper.

Francine was in shock, plain and simple. Her first instinct was to run to the professor, but she knew that he was already gone. She gathered her wits as best she could, and phoned the police immediately. Her thoughts then turned to the professor’s son, whom she only knew through the brief and infrequent contact made by the professor himself. She called him as well, waking him and informing him of the tragic news.

By this time, she had calmed herself enough to begin noticing details within the room. They were on the second floor, so if the assailant had leapt from the window, there would surely be evidence of his fall below. As she neared the window, she also noticed a piece of fabric that must have been torn from the attacker by the jagged glass. It appeared to be from a suit jacket. She walked back to the professors desk and noticed an open book with strange writings and symbols. As she leaned over to inspect it closer, she saw that it was written in French. Fortunately, that was a language she knew well.

The book was called “The King in Yellow”, and it appeared to be a play of some kind. As she read a few of the passages, it appeared to be a most disturbing play indeed. The symbol on the cover of the book was equally disturbing, and a grave uneasiness grew within her as she stared at it. It was at that moment that Christopher burst into the room, stopping suddenly upon seeing his father on the floor. She watched as he knelt beside the dead man.

“Chris, I’m so sorry.” She said, though her words seemed futile when spoken in the prescence of such tragedy.

Christopher was clearly angry. Angry at the murder, angry at his father, and even angry at himself for not trying harder to know the man who now lay before him, lost forever. He ran to the window, looked down to the alleyway below, and turned to the door.

“I’m going down there to find the murderer.” He muttered, while rushing to the door. Francine knew she was powerless to stop him.

Shortly thereafter, Officer O’Meara arrived on the scene. He questioned Francine about what she had heard and seen, and what she and the professor were doing here so late at night. She told him that she was studying some texts in the library, since she had not been sleeping well of late. She also told the officer about the professor’s recent behavior, which seemed to coincide with some ancient texts he had uncovered in the archives. She had thought him simply consumed with his work, as was often the case, but this was different. The professor was not the same man he had been only weeks earlier.

The officer walked around the room, inspecting the scene. He looked at the window, the bookshelves, and even inside the professor’s jacket, which rested on a nearby coat rack. From within its pockets, he produced a card. Hand-written on the card were the words “The Yellow Brotherhood.” He took the card, and placed it in his pocket to follow-up on later. He then turned his attentions to the professor himself.

The officer knelt beside the body. “What’s this here?” he asked, motioning to the paper in the professor’s hand.

“I don’t know.” She replied. “I didn’t want to disturb the scene, in case it was evidence.”

He nodded, reaching down to take the paper from the now lifeless hands. He had to pry a bit, but he managed to remove the item without damage. As he opened the page, Francine felt sick as the drying blood was causing the page to stick and tear as it unfolded. The officer frowned as he looked at the page. He turned it around, clearly confused.

“Hey, can you read this stuff? It doesn’t make any sense to me.” He held the page toward Francine.

As she looked at it closer, it was clear that the page had been torn in half, most likely by the attacker. The other half of the page likely rested with him. She gingerly took the page from the officer. Trying to ignore the nausea she felt, she began to study the writing. One side was clearly a textbook page, and appeared to be of no real consequence. The other side of the page, however, was a mess of arcane symbols and writings in a language altogether unfamiliar to her. That was when she saw it. The sign, the same symbol that appeared on the cover of the book on the professor’s desk!

“I don’t know what this writing means, but I think it may have something to do with the research that the professor had been doing lately. We may want to ask his son if he knows anything about it.” She said, handing the page back to the officer.

“His son? Where is he?” The officer replied, stuffing the crumpled page into his jacket pocket.

“He went down to the alleyway, to try and find the killer.”

“He WHAT?!” And with that, the officer turned and ran down to the street.

They found Christopher kneeling down on the ground, and as they neared, Francine could see he had found a trail of blood among the shards of glass.

“You should leave the investigating to the professionals, son” Officer O’Meara said, resting his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “If that killer was down here, you’d probably be dead by now.”

They looked around the alleyway for a few minutes, but the trail of blood appeared to end near the street. The officer concluded that the assailant must have had a getaway vehicle ready. He turned and showed Christopher the page taken from his father’s hand, but Christopher had no idea what it could mean. He did, however, know that his father kept journals of his work, and that they find the journal in the professor’s nearby residence.

By this time, the coroner had arrived to pick up the body. Convinced that they had found all the evidence they could, they got into the officer’s automobile and drove the short distance to the professor’s home.

Act 2 – Have You Seen The Yellow Sign?

Chris easily picked the lock on the door. A little too easily. He looked back at the officer and shrugged.

“Sorry, it’s a hobby of mine. Don’t worry, I’m not a professional.”

They proceeded into the home. It was a small apartment, with only one main living area, and a small kitchen and bathroom. It was littered with books, with stacks sometimes reaching the ceiling. His father was always something of a pack rat when it came to books, but this was excessive, even for him. He began to make his way through the room, scanning for the journals that his father favored. All the while, he felt as though he were being watched. Not by the officer, but by something…unseen. He didn’t like it.

In the sea of books that were strewn about the bed, he found what they were looking for.

“Here we go.” he said as he wrested the book from bottom of a small stack.

He opened it slowly, and turned to the last entry. He read it aloud, for the benefit of the others. It was dated only a few days ago, and recounted research he was doing into a local group called The Yellow Brotherhood, which had its base of operations within a downtown speakeasy called The Golden Trumpet. His father also mentioned a gate of some kind, which he had apparently learned how to seal. He said that he had recently befriended the owner of the speakeasy and head of the Brotherhood, a man named Walters. The last words of the journal hit him hard, creating an aching empty pit in his stomach:

“I only hope I can succeed. For my son’s sake, perhaps even the world’s sake, I must succeed. The gate must be sealed.”

After that, there was no more. Chris slowly handed the book to the officer, and they left the apartment in silence. He still could not shake the feeling of being watched, all the way back to the university. They decided that there was no more they could do that night, as it was nearing dawn and they were exhausted. They resolved to meet the next evening, to seek out the speakeasy his father had mentioned.

Chris slept fitfully that night. He heard his name being spoken, but not by anything human. As he looked around him, he was lying on the shore of a great lake. Something was rising, something which filled him with terror…

He awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. It was already afternoon. They had a killer to find.

They met on the university grounds, and took Sam’s car downtown. Sam was dressed in street clothes, not wanting to make more trouble for them than necessary. He didn’t like bringing these people into his investigation, but he had to admit that he needed their help. Whatever was going on here, they knew a lot more about it than he did. He unconsciously moved his hand to his coat pocket, where the paper he took from the professor’s body sat, folded and secure. For some reason, he felt that it was important to hold on to it himself, and had not put it in the evidence locker. He hoped his instincts proved correct. They parked the car on the street in a very poor area of town. Time to do what he did best, and hit the beat.

When he asked some of the locals about the Yellow Brotherhood, he was met with wide-eyes and denial of any knowledge. Clearly, they were getting close. Finally, he got some answers from an old homeless man, who sat with an unlabeled bottle in a nearby alleyway. He seemed to think that they were fools for going there, but he wasn’t going to stop them. He slurred some directions to Sam, and Sam slipped him a dollar in return. That was easier than he thought it would be.

It took them some time to find the place. It was in an alley in the middle of a labyrinth of tightly-packed buildings. Once they entered the narrow passage, an overwhelming smell of decay hit them. Francine nearly choked behind him, but he did his best to quell his rising nausea. As they stumbled further down the alley, nearly blinded by the stench, they found it’s source. A dog lay on the pavement in a terrible state. It was not merely dead, it had been torn asunder. It’s entrails were strewn about the alleyway in various directions.

“Oh Lord in Heaven!” Francine said, still gagging. “It’s the sign! It’s the yellow sign!”

Sam could see it now. This was no random mutilation. The entrails were very clearly spread out in the shape of the symbol he had seen. The very symbol that now rested in his coat pocket. There was no doubt about it now, they had found the Golden Trumpet. He found a door down some nearby steps. Upon knocking, a hideous pair of eyes appeared from the slat on the door.

“What do you want?” The gruff voice from the other side asked.

“We’re here to see Walter.” Sam said, hoping it would be that easy.

Sure enough, he heard a loud click from the other side, and the door swung open. As they entered, an assault of noise from the jazz band on a small stage was nearly overtaken by the stench of bootleg whiskey and cigar smoke. Francine made a renewed gagging sound from behind him. They walked across the floor to the nearby bar. He wanted to get some more information about this place, and the bartender seemed the safest bet.

As he neared, he could see the bartender was a short man, with oddly large eyes nearly bulging from his skull. He ran a filthy rag over the counter, barely looking up to see Sam approach. Chris came with him, nonchalantly resting against the bar, while Francine decided to try her luck with the bar’s other inhabitants. The bartender was reluctant to talk, and Sam could see he wasn’t getting anywhere here.

“Look, I’m here to see Walter. You can tell him friends of Professor Harris” He said.

The bartender slowly looked up at him, as though seeing him for the first time. He then turned and walked to a door which presumably led to a back room of some kind. Meanwhile, Francine had approached the dance floor, to see if she could get some information from the people there. As she approached through the haze of smoke, she really began to notice details of the people there. They were short. Very short. As she approached one, he turned to look at her. She nearly gasped in terror. The man, his face was just wrong somehow. She couldn’t explain it, but she could feel the wrongness of it. She could also feel several pairs of eyes on her. She slowly backed away and returned to Sam and Chris at the bar.

The bartender emerged from the doorway moments later, and beckoned them over. They entered the room, which appeared to be some kind of meeting room, where a man sat. He was an older gentleman, who wore a fine suit. He did not appear to be whatever those things outside were. He appraised them all with a thin smile.

“My associate tells me you wished to see me.” He said, with a neutral tone. He nodded to the bartender, who had not left after allowing them to enter.

“Your friend, Professor Harris, is dead.” Sam said, watching the man’s face intently.

“Did you find anything in his study?” The man said, seeming not at all surprised by this news.

“In fact we did.” Sam said, producing the half-page littered with writing and symbols. This provoked an immediate reaction. The man stood up, and the smile left his face.

“Well then, I must say I apologize for this… Thann tomal sheh qorrak!” The older man intoned, gesturing towards the group. Sam tried to reach for his pistol, but an overwhelming fatigue came over him, and he drifted into unconsciousness.

Act 3 – The Key and the Gate

When he awoke, he was on the shores of a lake. The sand was crimson around him, and the lake itself was a sickly yellow. The air around him was thick with a yellowish mist as well. The lake began to bubble, and churn. Something began to rise from deep within. Breaking the surface of the water, a misshapen mass of flesh flowed outward from the lake. It rose, massive and terrible, from the deep. Sam had no words, no thoughts, only terror.

He awoke. It was black, pitch black. He could hear water dripping somewhere nearby. He tried to move, but could not. He appeared to be chained to the wall. It was cold and damp, wherever he was.

“Sam, is that you?” It was Francine’s voice. Thank God, he wasn’t trapped here alone.

“Yes, it’s me.” He replied. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know, I woke up only a few moments ago. I think Chris is here too, but he hasn’t said anything”

At that moment, they heard footsteps nearing them. Light from a lantern was bobbing towards them from what appeared to be a nearby tunnel. Yes, it appeared that they were undergound, perhaps the sewer? Rounding the corner, these things were clearly the same as the inhabitants of the bar. Small, with twisted features, there appeared to be about a dozen of them. They were clad in black robes. Chris stirred in his chains on the opposide side of Francine, and slowly took in the reality of their situation.

They reached towards their chains, unlocking them one by one. There were too many for Sam to overpower, and even if he did, escaping with Francine and Chris would be difficult at best. They pushed the group forward, leading them down a series of tunnels. It was a maze of identical-looking passages in the darkness. The smell down here was nearly overpowering. This place definitely connected to the sewers at some point.

They turned a corner and the tunnels opened up into a large chamber. There appeared to be a series of steps on either side, carved into the rock floor. The stairs ended at what appeared to be an altar. The altar had deep grooves cut into it, which flowed down into a great symbol carved into the floor below. The symbol of the Yellow Sign. Standing at the altar now was the man called Walter. He was dressed in what appeared to be ceremonial vestments, and he held a dagger strikingly similar to the one used to kill the professor. Torches lined the walls of the room, which cast a devilish light on the proceedings within.

Sam quickly came up with a plan. He pretended to stumble against the wall, and bent over there, as though in pain. As one of the creatures neared him, he quickly reached up and grabbed a torch which burned overhead. He struck the small humanoid thing with all his might. The blow landed with a sickening crunch, and also set the creature ablaze. The room exploded with screams of alarm, and confusion. Walter tried to command the creatures to recapture the prisoners.

They held onto each other and ran into the darkness. They ran as fast and hard as they could. The cries and footsteps began to fade away behind them as they plunged deeper into the darkness. Minutes, perhaps hours, passed as they searched for a way out of the tunnels. Eventually, they heard the sound of flowing water, and followed it. They found it was indeed the sewers, and they ascended into the dark streets of Arkham above.

Shaken, and perhaps even permanently disturbed, Francine refused to help any further, and took a cab to her residence. Chris, however agreed to accompany Sam to the police station, where they would request assistance. It took some convincing, but eventually the police chief conceeded to provide officer backup. He didn’t believe the claims that Sam and Chris made regarding the creatures or tunnels, but breaking up a speakeasy would be an easy boost in morale for Arkham Police.

The dozen officers found the speakeasy with no one inside, though the whiskey was still present. Chris and Sam searched the back room, where they located the secret passage to the tunnels below. They descended into the darkness once again, confident in the officer’s ability to take care of any threat below. The first gunshots rang out as a pair of officers were dragged away, into endless dark of the tunnels. More gunshots followed, as they neared what must be the altar room.

It was there that Sam and Chris found Walter. Before the old man could say a word, Sam shot his revolver. He fired again and again, as the elderly man stumbled towards them. Walter fell at their feet, and Sam reached down to confirm that the man was dead. As he searched the body, he found the other half of the page. Placing the two halves together, he read the alien words written on the page aloud. As he did so, a low rumbling began, which turned into a full-on earthquake. They fled back through the tunnels as the ceiling collapsed behind them. Emerging once again into the streets of Arkham, Sam and Chris cast a knowing look at one another. They knew that the gate was now sealed.

Aftermath

This was a lot of fun to run. We played by candlelight, which added a lot to the ambiance. I actually spent a lot of time crafting the page with the symbols and writing on it. I then tore it in half, took some thick acrylic red paint, put some on my hands, and crumpled it up. The result was fantastic. When they were examining the body, I just held my hand out across the table with the page crumpled in my fist and made them pry it out. The group was genuinely freaked out at they opened it, a lot of it actually stuck together by the paint. It was great.

The other handout I had was the actual journal page from the professor. I had thrown it away after the game, unfortunately, so I couldn’t share it in it’s entirety here.

Other than that, the dream sequences were referencing the lake of Hali, where Hastur resides. I also included Byakhee’s in the game, but didn’t include them in my retelling here. The small humanoids were, of course, Tcho-tcho’s.

Francine actually went temporarily insane in the game, as she had lost a LOT of sanity by the end. Everyone lost quite a bit, but she got hit especially hard.

Everyone had a great time during the game, so I thought it was worth sharing. I apologize for the length of this, but I hope it was an enjoyable read.