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have you venture out of that old house and brave the public.  I suppose your publisher talked you into it, to help promote the book.  We are happy to become more acquainted with such an enigmatic creature.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “You’ve been a mystery ever since first moving to Arkham and claiming Elmer Harrod’s haunted house.  Yes, we still call it, and always will.  That marvelous place has such a hold on local imaginations because of seeing it on television week after week.  And the place gained an additional sinister aura after Elmer’s grotesque corpse was discovered in the graveyard.  I used to hang out at that graveyard just to be near the house and try to observe its inhabitant.  I was but a child when my family settled in Arkham fifty-eight years ago, and that house has always beguiled me.  There was usually a buzz of activity there, as if Elmer couldn’t stand to be inside it alone.  He used to host an annual Halloween party for local kids, but I wasn’t allowed to attend until I was well into my teens.  That place was never quiet – that’s my memory of it, there was almost always some kind of action, be it the student film crews from Miskatonic that were hired to film Elmer’s weekly television spot, or entertaining his B-film guests.  That placed bubbled with life.  It’s quite another matter with you.”
    I laughed.  “And shall remain so.  What I adore about the residence is its sense of solitude, the feeling there that I have escaped not only the world but time itself.  It’s not a sense that comes over me just because of antique furnishings and endless quietude – it’s something…other.  I never see anyone, except now and then the homeless vagrants who seek shelter in the vacated houses.  Living in Harrod’s house is like…living in a book, I guess that’s how I can best explain it.  It delights me with a feeling of real escape from insipid reality.  I need no other realm, which I guess is why I’ve not explored much of Arkham.  My existence before this – was no existence at all, just dull routine, day after relentless day.  I was stifled, damned by a non-life that lacked art and imagination.  My one escape, besides the library books I devoured, was to visit my uncle for two weeks every summer, curled up in his library with the astounding Elmer Harrod library, watching the collection of Harrod’s homemade films, exploring that house of secrets when left alone within it.  I would pine, for the rest of the year, to be there again, even when my maturity dimmed my youthful admiration for my uncle, who was rather a blasé individual with no real grasp of life or art.  Now I can dwell within that magick realm for the rest of my life, so why should I seek to roam anywhere else, even in a town of dark legend such as Arkham?  Of late I have developed a new interest in the town, but it’s related to my interest in the Carter family, and my use of their history in a series of novels I hope to write.”  I smiled at Carter.  “How strange, then, to accompany you, the freakish remnant of that ancient line.  Despite your absurdity, I can sense something about you – some rare element that is disguised by your outlandish appearance and adolescent ways.  Your two ancestors fascinate me, more and more, they and their legends.  They both vanished under queer circumstances, right?”  The others glanced at each other, and the small woman smiled.
    “Oh, we know as little as anyone else.  It was ages ago, all of that – ancient history, myth and legend.”  Judging from the expression on her face, Julia seemed not to care that I knew she was lying.  I returned her feeble smile. 
    “And yet you’ve unearthed the furtive secret of Obediah and his blemished eye.”  I pointed to the painting of the sorcerer.  “There may be other secrets just waiting to be exposed, if only one knew where to hunt.”  I winked at them, still smiling; and although they tried