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The Face

The house had been odd for as long as anyone could remember. The oldest portions were reputed to be pre-Columbian, and the cellar was whispered by some to be far older. Artifacts reportedly found on the site by the original owner, Elias Whittle, had been radiocarbon dated at an incredible (rather, unbelievable) 60,000 years. The house had been in the Whittle family for generations, but had stood empty for the past three decades.

Now, a Whittle was returning. Jonathan had retired early after making a fortune investing in dot-com startups. A weak heart had ended his hopes of a trip around the world, and he had instead decided to move back to the old homestead in rural New England. The house had needed some renovation to be habitable, but Jonathan had decided to move in even before the renovations

were well underway. Now he spent his days sitting in the sunshine on the patio, or reading through the library collected by his great-great-grandfather Elias. There were some strange tomes in the library, but nothing stranger than the family history, begun in a bold hand he'd tentatively identified as that of Nathan, Elias' grandfather. The "history" was a mixture of fantastic nonsense and cryptic references to things that Jonathan had never heard of. What, for instance, was a shoggoth? The most recent entry had been made by his own great-uncle in 1970. This entry purported to be a spell.

The old house made strange noises, which were especially noticeable at night, and it was one of these that made Jonathan look up from his reading to see -- what? Something outside the window. But he was on the third floor! He levered himself out of his chair and went to the window. He raised the sash and looked out. And that's where the workmen found him the following Monday morning. But when they found him, the expression on his face killed two of them outright, and sent another to the New Hampshire home for the incurably insane.