Extract from the journal of Dr Headonious Burro of Miskatonic University
Monday 3rd May 1909
Ahhh, I can not tell if it was the sheer relief of being free of the rotting quarters of the foul ship Minimax, or the intoxicating delights offered by this tranquil isle, but for the first time in my life I made an error with the date of yesterday’s entry! Still, it is of little matter and I have corrected myself with this entry. Tsk! Mrs Burro would be looking pointedly at me over the tops of her spectacles and warning me of the perils of working too hard. How I miss my darling Pollyanna.
Still, the dig is keeping me and my colleagues very busy so there is little time for the distractions of homesickness. Professors Ruttenberg and Delcon have been directing the swarthy natives at the dig site and progress is going well despite the rough lot continually fighting amongst themselves. Poor Professor Heron is being kept quite busy holding the peace between them and his look of exasperation grows almost by the hour! Professors McMillian & Vestal have been gainfully engaged in putting our calculating automaton, the erstwhile AMAT, to work on the already plentiful finds from the dig (or ‘the hole’ as AMAT has taken to calling the dig site – at times AMAT displays an almost human personality trait that can seem quite queer when you remember that you are addressing an automatonic device). So far she has sorted and classified what looks like a small charnel house’s worth of bones! These savages must have slaughtered half their own kind in their twisted, heathen worship of their foul gods and idols.
Not all goes well though. Professor Ellison managed to emerge from her tent today and joined the dig at the edge of the hole. Upon seeing the gaping maw beneath her, she became transfixed, her eyes staring wildly in to the dark opening full of toiling natives like so many twisted termites. With a muted scream she began backing away proclaiming that something was watching her. Only when I reached out to take her arm did she stop. Wide eyed she turned on me and said “For God’s sake man! Fill it in! Fill it in!” before collapsing into a dead faint. Dr Hidayat has her now and informs me she is running a heinous temperature that I can only put down to her recent departure from such a cold clime.
Still, with a continuance of this favourable weather and assuming poor Professor Heron can manage to cajole some consistent level of work out of the natives, I am confident of making a breakthrough very soon. If only my dear Pollyanna were here to see this, she would be so proud to see my hour of triumph! After all these years of persuading the heads of Miskatonic that this island held the key to the ancient worship of the octopodidae god, K’tooloo it comes to this – a few more days of hard toil and I shall be able to prove not only my own work right once and for all, but also the research undertaken by Armitage and his correspondent, the mysterious Dr Jeremiah Mason.