From the Diary of Professor Lilian Neill, August 21st, 1930 (Evening)

The sheer audacity of this university administration is staggering. Today should have been about recovery, yet I was summoned to President Wainscote’s office at 10:30 a.m.. I dressed in my most severe attire, fearing the worst, and frankly, my career felt balanced on a pinhead.

Wainscote was polite but rigid. He spoke of “disturbing reports” from Professor Harold about licentiousness and scandal. I refused to back down. I insisted, firmly, that as the primary source, my account of being assaulted by some unseen force in the mist must hold precedence over rumours of “ghost stories”. He ultimately issued a caution—”Watch your step. Fly straight. Do the job. Avoid any more scandal”. I retain my position, but I am acutely aware of the scrutiny.

Before the meeting, I tried desperately to find context for that dreadful word, “Summerlands,” from Amanda’s notebook. After searching high and low in the Anthropology and Native American texts at the Orne Library, I found nothing. Worse still, Dr. Armitage, the only man who controls the restricted occult section, is away visiting Dunwich. Another dead end.

I met Teddy and Sofia at the Pleasant Cafe afterwards, and they were incandescent with fury after their meeting with Dean Bricknell. It seems the university has swallowed the Sheriff’s and, disturbingly, Blaine’s lies entirely. It was during this discussion that the haunting words I woke up to this morning—”Too late. She’s dead”—crystallised. That voice belonged to John Jeffrey, the student who went missing in 1929. This reality is far more terrifying than any mere misconduct charge.

We have a plan. I must now attempt to discreetly acquire Robert Blaine’s residential address. I need to know who this man is and why he is the only common denominator in both failed expeditions. I fear where this investigation will lead us; the truth, as Teddy suggests, surely lies beyond mere folklore.

From the Diary of Edward Harris, August 21st, 1930 (Evening)

I am still vibrating with fury. I spent yesterday pouring everything onto paper, creating twenty pages of notes detailing Blaine’s suspicious movements and the historical child deaths. But it counts for nothing here in Arkham.

Sofia and I were summoned to see Dean Bricknell at 11:00 a.m. He is a pompous bully who wouldn’t even offer us a seat. He threatened us openly with expulsion, comparing our supposed behaviour to the failed expedition last year. The constant accusations of drunkenness and licentiousness are utterly vile. The ease with which they impugned our names—from the Sheriff in Cobb’s Corners to Professor Harold here—is baffling. Why do they instantly believe these falsehoods without question?

The anger makes me feel unhinged. When we met Professor Neill later at the cafe, I was nearly babbling, struggling to coherently express my mounting fears. The fog, the buzzing, the attack—it all felt so unnatural, so bizarre. It came to me, suddenly, that what we faced was an “alien-ness”. This whole situation is too strange, too improbable for natural explanation.

My first course of action is clear. I must use the library resources to conduct a comprehensive search into the official records of the previous Cobb’s Corners expeditions. There must be some explanation, some paper trail, that links Robert Blaine’s strange trajectory and the failure of that first trip. Professor Neill will get me Blaine’s address; I intend to keep an eye on his movements. I need to know why he gets a free pass while we face ruin.

From the Diary of Sofia Picado, August 21st, 1930 (Evening)

The lack of sleep last night compounded the difficulty of today. I was exhausted when I faced Dean Bricknell. I put on my best clothes and tried to present myself as studious and capable, concerned primarily with protecting my funding. Bricknell’s condescending attitude and his threats of expulsion left me shaken.

At least I confirmed that our equipment and, crucially, my notes, as well as the other students, are supposedly being returned today. I did stop by Clarissa’s door on the way up to my room, only to be met by her perplexed roommate, Roberta. I had to concoct a clumsy lie about Clarissa and me being “separated” on the journey home.

Later, at the Pleasant Cafe, Teddy was nearly raving about an “alien-ness,” connecting our dreams to forces beyond this world. I reject this entirely. I am a scientist. Whatever we encountered, be it the flying creature or the mole-like thing Lilian saw, must be something undiscovered, but very firmly of this earth. If I can shoot it, it exists within the laws of physics.

I am utterly frustrated by the entire excursion. My focus now must be purely on scientific facts. I am returning to the Science Annex to research the provenance and origins of Pasqualium. Federated Oil and Chemical is keenly interested in this mineral, and I need to understand its history and whether the sample I know of is still secure in Professor Learmonth’s lab. My reputation rests on tangible discovery, not ghost stories. I need to re-anchor myself in what is real.

Until next time,

Owen