#hpl

Of my colleague Herbert West, my friend from University to the present, I speak of with both terror and fascination. I wrote in my previous journal my experiences with him, a year after his disappearance, in 1922. Later that same year, my parents both died unexpectedly. I was about to leave Massachusetts for my home state of Illinois. Instead, Herbert West came through the front door of our Boston home like nothing happened. I fell to him like a saint touched by God, and he accepted me again as his inthralled assistant. His stronger will held me at Massachusetts, and I cancelled my move to Illinois. He was ripped apart on that night in 1921, but he was obviously reanimated. He refused to speak about what happened, but he had scars on his body that almost healed entirely from his death. Now, we’re both going to that frozen hellscape that we call Antarctica.