Mr. Harris has spotted the Tarasque not two miles from our location, 
and tomorrow we will spring the trap. Mr. Roosevelt has agreed to 
act as bait - he will approach the Tarasque on horseback and attack 
it once with his elephant gun, and once it gives chase, he will lure it 
to the pit. He is to gallop across the bridge and lure the Tarasque to 
follow him - and when it attempts to do so, it will surely fall into the 
pit. Messrs. Dukov and Harris and |, lying in wait out of sight, will 
then join Mr. Roosevelt at the pit's edge and unleash the full fury of 
our armaments onto it - our rifles and shot-guns, the particle 
destabilizer, Mr. Dukov's electric rifle, and provided it has charged 
safely, he shall make his first firing of the pitchblende-gun. Once our 
armament has been exhausted, we shall pour four barrels of Mr. 
Dukov's jellied kerosene into the pit and ignite it - and, Providence 
withstanding, nothing shall be left of the creature but ash and bone 
by sundown tomorrow. 


May 29th, 1883: 
SUCCESS! 


The plan went off without a hitch. It was afternoon before Mr. 
Roosevelt could coerce the Tarasque into pursuing him, but surely 
enough the reptilian behemoth fell into the pit, impaled upon the 
spikes, and was stuck while the four of us rained destruction from 
above. The monster let loose a screech from the pits of Damnation 
itself as bullets and explosives tore its flesh loose bit by bit, and 
jellied Kerosene burned slowly and stopped it regrowing. Mr. Dukov 
warned us to avert our eyes when he finally fired the pitchblende- 
gun, and his warning was justified - the blast was bright enough to 
blind, and a massive plume of smoke and fire erupted from the pit 
after he had pulled the trigger, seeming to blossom into a mushroom 
above us. By the time the fires had died down, a charred skeleton 
was all that remained. 


We have separated the beast's massive skull, blackened and 


perforated, from what remains of the monster, and a handful of 
soldiers who reported after the blast are hard at work filling in the pit 
with earth. Tomorrow we shall bring the skull back to Avignon and 
collect our reward. 


May 30th, 1883: 
DISASTER! 


We were hailed as heroes by the army when we arrived in Avignon 
with our prize. In the morning light, the Tarasque's skull seemed 
whiter than it had the night before, and more charred flesh stuck to it 
than it had seemed when we dragged it from the pit, though surely it 
was little more than an illusion. The four of us posed for 
photographs, and Mr. Dukov asked to have his photograph taken 
with his head in between the massive jaws of our fallen prey. 


Imagine our horror when the jaws snapped shut, severing Dukov's 
head neatly at the shoulders. The skull of the Tarasque rolled loose 
from its place on the stage and snapped again, taking another chunk 
of his body, and the soldiers screamed and fainted as it seemed to 
be growing a new Coating of flesh and scales over its charred 
exterior. We watched, shocked, as the honor guards fired a volley at 
the skull. The chips it took off seemed to replace themselves 
instantly, and | was dumbfounded as sinew and muscle seemed to 
spread across the creature's bones and knit into shape. The jaws of 
the disembodied Tarasque opened and it shouted in French; "Vous 
me rendez malade". 


From the other end of the plaza | heard more screams, and looked 
to see the impossible - the rest of the Tarasque! Covered in earth 
and grime, held together by a few lonely strands of muscle, the 
headless carcass lurched through the square with uncanny speed, 
trampling men in its path, ignoring gunshot and cannon fire as it 
made to rejoin its body. From the corner of my eye | saw Mr. Harris 
take off running. Mr. Roosevelt noted he was headed in the direction 
of the bank vault and his secret weapon; as the skull of the 
Tarasque seemed to be making its way towards where | stood, | 
gave Harris chase. 


We found Mr. Harris having dragged the crate out of the vault into 


the lobby, hurriedly prying the boards loose. Soon the crate fell 
away, revealing a stone coffin that looked truly ancient. It felt as if all 
the heat fled the room when the sarcophagus was exposed, and | 
forced back a shudder as | beheld it. Three chains with massive 
locks held the lid in place, and the lid and casket itself were covered 
with hand-carved runes that looked to be Sumerian or Akkadian. | 
confess that | have not taken the time to learn the ancient languages 
of Mesopotamia; but | felt a distinct sense of wrongness emanating 
from the box as Mr. Harris drew a ring with three keys from his coat 
and began to unlock the seals, one by one. | begged with him to 
stop this madness and flee while we had a chance, and he insisted 
that once open, our victory would be secured. Mr. Harris pushed the 
lid aside and barely had a moment to regard his secret weapon, in 
the flesh, before an olive-toned arm, sword in hand, lashed out from 
within the box and sliced his head clean off. 


In all my years of adventuring among the primitives and wild men of 
the world, | have never set eyes on a man who looked so savage, so 
elemental, so full of primal rage as the being that now climbed from 
the coffin; naked, sword in hand, its long black hair flowing behind it, 
its body covered head to toe in tattooes of eldritch imagery and 
ancient languages that resembled no script written by man. 
Sherman, the American general, is said to have told his enemies, 
begging for mercy, that they may as well appeal against the 
thunderstorm. What | beheld before me, | thought, was the very 
eidolon of the storm. 


Mr. Roosevelt attempted to entreat with the man and beg its 
assistance; seeming to barely hear him, the god-man set his eyes 
on Roosevelt and lunged with his sword. Roosevelt parried with his 
rifle, the barrel cracking under its onslaught, and in surprise the god- 
man dropped the blade. Roosevelt picked it up and attempted to 
return the blow, and in an instant the god-man somehow held 
another sword in each hand. Mr. Roosevelt did his best to fend off 
his assailant's onslaught, but found himself cornered soon. Though | 
am loath to intervene in a fair fight between two honest men, | could 
not bear to see Mr. Roosevelt cut down in the midst of this 
pandemonium; | drew my pistol and emptied its cylinder, discharging 
five rounds into the god-man's head. 


Though it should have been dead, the olive-skinned destroyer 
turned and stared me down. Like the Tarasque, even with half its 
face gone it seemed ready to kill. Dropping one of its blades, it 
moved its hand rapidly through the air and tossed something at me 
faster than | could react. In an instant, | could not move my arms. 
The man had somehow materialized a bola, a weapon used by the 
cow-men of South America to immobilize fleeing animals, and it had 
tied itself securely around my chest. Another flick and a second bola 
struck me around the legs, and | was down on the ground. He 
approached to land the killing blow, when behind me | saw the outer 
wall of the bank shudder and give way and heard that offensive roar 
- the cry of the Tarasque, nary a scratch upon it, as it entered the 
building in search of its would-be slayers. 


The god-man caught sight of the Tarasque and lost interest entirely 
in Mr. Roosevelt and I. This, | thought, must be why poor Mr. Harris 
considered him his secret weapon; this avatar of rage lived to fight, 
and in the Tarasque, it had the ultimate rival. To describe the fight 
that ensued between those two unkillable titans would take a 
hundred pages or more; Mr. Roosevelt and | huddled in the safety of 
the bank vault, which alone seemed immune to the destruction the 
two rained upon each other. After the better part of an hour had 
passed, hundreds lay dead around them, the center of Avignon little 
more than rubble. The god-man was missing an arm and half a leg, 
an eye, and the better part of his brain, and his stomach had been 
cut open. In a state where most men would be long dead, it 
continued to fight, severing even its own entrails and making 
weapons of them. The Tarasque had suffered as badly; it was on 
the ground, recuperating, when | saw the god-man take notice of Mr. 
Dukov's pitchblende-gun, lying near what remained of the stage that 
an hour ago had been the site of such jubilation. 


As we watched, the god-man removed the core of the pitchblende- 
gun with an uncanny precision. He made what seemed to be bombs 
and explosives appear, and it strapped them to the device's core, 
which he mounted on his chest. Lighting a fuse, it charged at the 
Tarasque as it readied itself to meet him. Having seen the fury of the 
pitchblende-gun in a controlled state, Mr. Roosevelt and | had no 
desire to see what happened next. We retreated into the vault as a 
blinding light filled the square and a blistering wind, mightier than the 


hurricanes of the Caribbean, slammed the door shut and sealed us 
within. 


It is dark; the light from my electric torch has provided just enough 
luminescence by which to write this account. | Know not for how long 
the air in this vault will last. Aside from the lifeless body of Mr. 
Harris, there is nothing in this vault that approximates food or water, 
and as Christians and gentlemen Mr. Roosevelt and myself have 
sworn not to pursue that dark path unless our lives themselves are 
on the line. | do not know if | will make it out of here alive; if | do not, 
let this diary be my last word and testament to the horrors that have 
befallen this corner of the world. 


June 13th, 1883: 


Providence smiled upon us after all, in the end; on the morning of 
the 1st, the vault door opened and | regarded a major of the army 
and a company of men searching for survivors. Mr. Roosevelt and | 
were dehydrated and beginning to suffer from pitchblende-fever; 
fortunately; | knew the address of one of my dear friend Henry's 
associates in Marseille, and upon being transported to hospital, he 
met us there and provided the treatments necessary to stave off the 
certain death that that malicious ague carries with it. 


Colonel D'Enfante is dead, | have learned; and at least ten thousand 
others who were incinerated when Avignon was consumed by flame. 
Even those who had survived, | learned, have been burned or 
blinded, and pitchblende-fever will likely claim many of them in time. 
No sign has been seen of the Tarasque or the god-man since the 
explosion; nor, for that matter, of the icy sarcophagus in which he 
had apparently slept until the late Mr. Harris loosed him upon the 
city. It will take years, if not decades, to restore this ancient region to 
its former glory. 


We were two of only a handful of witnesses to one of the greatest 
disasters to strike France in recent memory; and having been at the 
center of it all, the army regarded us with great suspicion. We were 
interrogated several times, first by soldiers, then by police, then by 
politicians. A man who looked English watched and took notes, but 
said not a word as we told our story. In the end we escaped 
transportation to Devil's Island, but the reward that had been 


promised was forfeit, and we were sternly warned that neither of us 
were welcome in France again so long as we lived. The explosion 
that claimed Avignon was seen for hundreds of miles, | learned, and 
the press from Paris to New York were heavily embroiled in 
speculation; everything from a falling star, to a German super- 
weapon, to the wrath of God Himself was being proposed as an 
explanation. We were warned not to share our personal knowledge 
of the event with others as we were sent on our way. 


Mr. Roosevelt and | parted ways in Calais; he intends to return to 
America, he informed me, and pursue a political career. In that, | 
wish him well. 


| returned to my house in London this afternoon, and was informed 
by Deeds that a post-card had arrived for me this morning. The 
handwriting in the brief, unsigned note within resembled that of the 
strange Englishman who had attended the questionings, whose 
notes | caught brief glimpses of from time to time. | present that 
message below; 


To Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood, CBE; 


The Royal Foundation for the Security, Containment, and 
Protection of Anomalous Objects and Phantasmagoria 
requests a meeting for the purpose of negotiating an 
alliance favourable to both our parties. Please call any 
time (excepting Sundays) at No. 19 Marylebone Road, 
Westminster, and ask to speak to Doctor Thursday. Your 
discretion is requested in this matter. 


| have not heard of this Foundation before, and | do not know if | 
intend to take them up on their mysterious overture. Perhaps | shall 
hear them out; but | have never been one to serve in one man's 
employ for very long, and | value my freedom as a naturalist and 
explorer above all else. We shall see. 


Lord Blackwood in the Land of the Unclean 


December 25th, 1875: 


As far and as wide as | have travelled in my years, there is nothing 
in the world quite like Christmas-time in London. The crisp winter air 
echoes with the song of carolers and everywhere one looks the eyes 
of his fellow men are filled with an air of peace and charity. | gave 
the help the day off after our early meal and have spent the evening 
in quiet reflection and planning - for this Christmas, the germ of a 
grand and glorious new expedition has presented itself to me. 


Two nights ago | attended a Christmas party at the gentlemen's 
club. The food was fine and the drinks flowed freely, and | remained 
in conversation with several of my fellow naturalists until well into the 
morning. Shortly after midnight our discussion turned to the topic of 
the super-natural, and Mr. Wallace, the famed father of evolutionary 
theory and a noted Spiritualist, told me of a most unusual 
occurrence he had heard of recently. An associate of his had 
recently returned from the Levant with a most unusual artifact - a 
small red disc, fashioned perhaps of cinnabar, carved with runes he 
thought to be an early form of Phoenician, or perhaps Cretan. When 
left to its own devices, the object would roll about on its own and 
reach great speeds, breaking through walls and crushing anything in 
its path, until it came to rest upon a mirrored surface. A man could 
pick it up easily no matter how fast it moved, he claimed, and until it 
was set down it would glow brightly in strange colours. We found 
this account most curious, but what Mr. Wallace told us next proved 
even more interesting. 


Two months ago, he said, his associate's maid had been cleaning in 
the room where the disc laid pressed against one of his dressing 
mirrors. Ignorant of the object's nature, the maid lifted it up to dust 
underneath it and set it back upon the mirror - whereupon, the maid 
had said, the mirror's surface rippled and a man in strange clothes 
fell through, as if he had been leaning upon a wall that gave way. 


The man panicked and began flailing about and shouting 
nonsensically, and tried to flee before the maid locked him in the 
room and summoned the police, who took the man away as he 
shouted and tried to run back in the direction of the room he had 
apparated in. Mr. Wallace's associate had thought him at first a 
common thief, but there was absolutely no way the man could have 
entered the estate without arousing suspicion, and the maid's 
account was most clear - he had come through the mirror.