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Don't think for a moment that I am admitting to anything, is that clear? I never so much as DREAMED of doing anything in that grotesque indictment...I hope that this statement--statement, NOT 'confession'-- will clear up this entire matter so I can get back home. My name is Darnell Gustave Yves and I reside at 47 W. Ungl Avenue, Arkham...what's that? Yes, U-N-G-L, no other vowels. Don't ask me where the name came from, it's a weird town; I only live there because I study at Miskatonic University. I won't live on campus, I've heard too many unsettling stories from my classmates. I am an Art major, and that's why I came to Boston--I'm writing a paper on the career of Richard Upton Pickman, who was something of a sensation when he was working here back in the mid 1920's. We know of only six of his paintings that still exist--I believe his father burned a few, after Pickman disappeared, and no museum or gallery in Boston would touch the rest; they were bought by private collectors

No torches burned inside the tunnel beneath the temple of Mut. Only the brazier Bek carried behind her drove back the blackness, and it was dimming with every passing second. Itawaret occasionally paused to search the floor for branches that she could toss into the brazier, but found nothing but cold and damp stone.     Finally, they reached a rectangular outline of light at the tunnel’s end. By the mercy of fate, the pair had not stumbled into any booby-traps, nor run into any dead ends branching off from the main passage. While dark, the journey was not as perilous as Itaweret had feared… Hopefully, it would stay that way. “How do you know this doesn’t lead to a trap?” Bek asked. “Think about it. Why would Mut lead us into a trap? Don’t you trust her enough, brother?” “Assuming that was Mut speaking to us. What if it was that Achaean demon she talked about, that Athena?” Itaweret fought hard within herself to ignore him, and the possibility he raised. It was a valid point, if she