Jim Culver rested with his back against ol’ Marty’s headstone, playing a mournful tune upon his trumpet.
He cocked his head to one side, “What’s that ya saying, Marty? Sommit in the woods is stirring which scares you folks?” The conversation with Marty continued for hours, by the time he had finished talking the musician was thoroughly alarmed.
Jim walked into a pawn broker in downtown San Antonio. He browsed the wares, finding what he needed: a revolver, secured inside a glass cabinet behind the counter.
“We don’t sell firearms to coloureds,” said the shopkeeper nervously.
Later that day he scrambled aboard a freight train, which was travelling north to Arkham. Jim knew of a Mrs. Beecher there who sold “magic.” He had the feeling that he’d need all the help he could get.
Once again Jim Culver knocked on Mrs. Beecher’s door, but still no answer. He decided to wander around Arkham. Finding himself outside Miskatonic University library he had an idea and so strolled in and up to the information desk.
“I’m looking for a book on hidden knowledge, unusual stuff?”
A matronly clerk lowered her half-moon spectacles and allowed them to dangle from the cord round her neck. She looked at Jim, top to toe, and then said:
“Take a seat over there, sir”—indicating a desk—”and I’ll see what we’ve got in the restricted section.”
He pored over an esoteric tome, inside it he finds a passage, with handwritten notes scrawled in the margin, about courage, your own and others, the passage is printed in non-rhyming, staccato verse. Jim clicked off his green shaded reading lamp, before carefully tearing out the page from the tome. He heard a cough and guiltily shot a glance at the clerk. She danced, swaying, her naked and her dimpled body shook excitedly.
”Sir”—a voice as if from far away—”sir, I also found this,” said the receptionist, fully clothed and presenting a book.