The Unnamable

It's all right. It's all right. It's only lightning.

It's all right.

Back to your room now.

It's all right.

Denizen of hell that you be,

I beseech you, be silent.

Be silent!

Hush and listen to my words.

For I would that some day you might walk in

the light of day and sit at the tables of men.

You can come out now.

Come out.

Saints preserve us.

- Hurry it up.

- Yes, sir.

It was not human, which did this.

Shh.

The sooner he's in the ground,

the sooner we'll be left in peace.

Leave it be. Seal this house.

The light of day must never enter it again.

As you wish, Mr Craft.

May what horror hides here be consigned

behind these walls for all eternity.

Blessed be all our mortal souls.

It's not right to bury

an old warlock by sacred ground.

Go on. It makes no difference.

Dead is dead.

With this one, I am not so sure.

And that was the tale

told by Cotton Mather,

the clergyman author,

in his volume on New England legends.

My story begins 50 years later, when a local

boy stole into the house, and to the attic.

What he saw reflected

in the glass of the attic window,

an image retained within it

of the unnamable creature,

which stared out of it for so many years,

turned his hair instantly grey.

He ran screaming from the house

to be found wandering mindlessly

in the nearby forest some days later

by a woodcutter.

The boy never regained his sanity.

When questioned,

he fell in the screaming fits,

rather than attempt to describe

the unmentionable thing

he had seen locked

in the glass of the attic window.

Carter, this constant talk about unnamable

and unmentionable things is childish.

But, Joel, there are things

in this universe so horrific

that the mind is unable to conceive of them.

Wrong. Everything can be

conceived and described,

either through scientific prose

or mathematical equation.

And that is a smug answer, but it is one

to be expected from a science major.

- It's common sense.

- It's just a story, right?

You haven't heard of Randolph Carter?

Miskatonic University's

best-published student.

At least three magazines grace the world

with his rubbish horror stories.

Really? I had some poetry published...

- You know it's more than that.

- OK, Carter.

Images embedded in glass I can accept

only because it is possible according

to the laws and principles of radiation.

- But unnamable?

- I give up.

I wonder as to what

unmentionable nourishment

those roots must be sucking from that tomb.

Carter, they haven't had

a burial here in over 1 00 years.

What do you think the boy saw

in the window pane?

- It cannot be described.

- You're so full of it.

- The story is true, Joel.

- Do you think we're idiots?

Of course not, but it is based upon a diary

written by one of my ancestors

who lived not a mile

from where we are sitting now.

- It was his son who went mad.

- Jesus, Carter.

It's just a bunch of old wives' tales.

Is it? Two separate sources. Cotton Mather,

a moderately-sane clergyman and author

and my ancestor's diary.

Both claim the tale to be true.

Obviously, one based his story on

the other's. Or you made them both up.

You admit it is possible for a piece of glass

to retain the image of someone

who sits in front of it for a long time.

- Sure.

- But for centuries, it was an old wives' tale.

- A superstition until science proved it fact.

- So if I sit in front of a window...

That doesn't mean

that this creature actually lived.

Forget the creature. What about the house?

If all this is real, where's the house?

- It's still there.

- OK. You take us there, Carter.

Glass or no glass,

I tell you it's a bunch of bullshit.

In fact, I dare you to show me the house.

Well, Joel, you've seen it. It's right there.

Gentlemen, there is a third local tale

that tells...

Give it!

- That's a bat!

- I got it. We'll spend the night there.

Ha! Right.

Well, why not?

Sh*t, let's get out of here.

No way. If Carter here thinks

he can scare us with his tall tales,

it's up to us to prove he's full of it.

Joel, trust me. It's all true.

Well, then, prove it.

Scientific inquiry is the ultimate road, Carter.

To famous disasters. I for one will not risk

tampering with forces that dangerous.

Come off of it, Carter.

How much melodrama can you shovel out?

"Forces that dangerous."

How about you, Howard? Are you game?

Uh, I don't know, Joel.

I think the whole thing's a waste of time.

In other words,

our freshman colleague is chicken.

Come on, Joel. It's just a story. Right?

Don't look at me. I'm too smart

to be conned by a stupid dare.

- You're acting like a couple of little girls.

- Wait a minute.

Cowards!

What are we going to do?

I for one am going back

to the university and a warm bed.

You coming?

Hey! You coming?

Uh, Carter...

Carter, we really should convince him

to give this whole thing up.

Not that anything's gonna happen.

Legends are stories that are told and retold

till most of the original meaning has gone.

But there usually is some original meaning.

Something started those stories.

But it might have a simple explanation.

It might, but l, for one,

don't care to press my luck.

JoeI'll be back in the morning to call us

cowards and I can live with that.

- Oh. Carter, hi.

- Hello, Wendy.

- Hi, Wendy.

- Could you help with Angelie's assignment?

- I don't know what he's talking about.

- Sure. I'll be at the library tomorrow.

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