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"The Thing on the Doorstep" is a horror short story by American writer H. P. Lovecraft, part of the Cthulhu Mythos universe. It was written in August , and first.
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By using our site, you acknowledge that you have read and understand our Cookie Policy , Privacy Policy , and our Terms of Service. Lovecraft's best pieces. One of the main characters is Edward Pickman Derby, who finds himself battling against the possession attempts of his wife Asenath Waite. Somewhere, I seem to recall reading that Derby's character was inspired to a significant degree by that of Robert E.

Later in his career, Lovecraft included quite a few homages to his peer authors in his stories. For example, " The Haunter of the Dark " is explicitly dedicated to the young Robert Bloch, and the protagonist is named Robert Blake. So I am trying to track down what might be known about a connection between Howard and Derby. The Wikipedia page for the story suggests a number of individuals who may have influenced the Lovecraft's characterization of Edmund Derby: Lovecraft himself, for his secluded upbringing; Clark Ashton Smith, for his exotic and similarly titled poetry; and Frank Belknap Long, for his inability to grow a beard.

There are also clear allusions to Howard's mythos writing, among other authors. However, nothing is mentioned about Howard being an inspiration for Derby's character.


  1. Unknown Publication Record;
  2. The Journal of the Delaware Gerontology Institute: Volume 2: Topic: Gratitude and Thanksgiving.
  3. Dark Adventure Radio Theatre - The Thing on the Doorstep.
  4. Vorgestellte Kanäle.
  5. "The Thing on the Doorstep" by H. P. Lovecraft.

I should note that the Wikipedia article, at present, also contains at least one glaring error. It dates Derby's death at the climax of the story to the year , which is impossible since the town of Innsmouth was completely razed in It was very casual talk, for the change was purely psychological; but it brought up some interesting points. Now and then, it seemed, Edward was observed to wear an expression and to do things wholly incompatible with his usual flabby nature. In such cases he seemed always to be just back from some trip or just starting on one—what sort of trip, no one could guess, although he mostly favoured the Innsmouth road.

Oddly, the metamorphosis did not seem altogether pleasing. People said he looked too much like his wife, or like old Ephraim Waite himself, in these moments—or perhaps these moments seemed unnatural because they were so rare. Sometimes, hours after starting out in this way, he would return listlessly sprawled on the rear seat of the car while an obviously hired chauffeur or mechanic drove. Also, his preponderant aspect on the streets during his decreasing round of social contacts including, I may say, his calls on me was the old-time indecisive one—its irresponsible childishness even more marked than in the past.

It was really very puzzling. Meanwhile the Derbys almost dropped out of the gay college circle—not through their own disgust, we heard, but because something about their present studies shocked even the most callous of the other decadents. It was in the third year of the marriage that Edward began to hint openly to me of a certain fear and dissatisfaction.

This questioning seemed to make him at once alarmed and grateful, and once he mumbled something about having a serious talk with me later. About this time old Mr. Derby died, for which I was afterward very thankful. Edward was badly upset, though by no means disorganised. He had seen astonishingly little of his parent since his marriage, for Asenath had concentrated in herself all his vital sense of family linkage. Some called him callous in his loss—especially since those jaunty and confident moods in the car began to increase.

The Thing on the Doorstep by H.P. Lovecraft

He now wished to move back into the old Derby mansion, but Asenath insisted on staying in the Crowninshield house, to which she had become well adjusted. Not long afterward my wife heard a curious thing from a friend—one of the few who had not dropped the Derbys. She had been out to the end of High St. Ringing the bell, she had been told by the repulsive wench that Asenath was also out; but had chanced to look up at the house in leaving.

What he said was not to be believed, even in centuried and legend-haunted Arkham; but he threw out his dark lore with a sincerity and convincingness which made one fear for his sanity. He talked about terrible meetings in lonely places, of Cyclopean ruins in the heart of the Maine woods beneath which vast staircases lead down to abysses of nighted secrets, of complex angles that lead through invisible walls to other regions of space and time, and of hideous exchanges of personality that permitted explorations in remote and forbidden places, on other worlds, and in different space-time continua.

The Thing on the Doorstep and Other Weird Stories

He would now and then back up certain crazy hints by exhibiting objects which utterly nonplussed me—elusively coloured and bafflingly textured objects like nothing ever heard of on earth, whose insane curves and surfaces answered no conceivable purpose and followed no conceivable geometry. Sometimes—but always in frightened and ambiguous whispers—he would suggest things about old Ephraim Waite, whom he had seen occasionally at the college library in the old days.

These adumbrations were never specific, but seemed to revolve around some especially horrible doubt as to whether the old wizard were really dead—in a spiritual as well as corporeal sense. At times Derby would halt abruptly in his revelations, and I wondered whether Asenath could possibly have divined his speech at a distance and cut him off through some unknown sort of telepathic mesmerism—some power of the kind she had displayed at school.

Certainly, she suspected that he told me things, for as the weeks passed she tried to stop his visits with words and glances of a most inexplicable potency. Only with difficulty could he get to see me, for although he would pretend to be going somewhere else, some invisible force would generally clog his motions or make him forget his destination for the time being. She always found out later—the servants watched his goings and comings—but evidently she thought it inexpedient to do anything drastic. Derby had been married more than three years on that August day when I got the telegram from Maine.

Asenath was supposed to be with him, though watchful gossips declared there was someone upstairs in the house behind the doubly curtained windows.

H.P. Lovecraft - The Thing On The Doorstep

They had watched the purchases made by the servants. And now the town marshal of Chesuncook had wired of the draggled madman who stumbled out of the woods with delirious ravings and screamed to me for protection. It was Edward—and he had been just able to recall his own name and my name and address. Chesuncook is close to the wildest, deepest, and least explored forest belt in Maine, and it took a whole day of feverish jolting through fantastic and forbidding scenery to get there in a car. I found Derby in a cell at the town farm, vacillating between frenzy and apathy.

He knew me at once, and began pouring out a meaningless, half-incoherent torrent of words in my direction. The pit of the shoggoths! Down the six thousand steps. I never would let her take me, and then I found myself there.

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The shape rose up from the altar, and there were that howled. A minute before I was locked in the library, and then I was there where she had gone with my body—in the place of utter blasphemy, the unholy pit where the black realm begins and the watcher guards the gate. I saw a shoggoth—it changed shape. The next day I got him decent clothes in the village, and set out with him for Arkham. His fury of hysteria was spent, and he was inclined to be silent; though he began muttering darkly to himself when the car passed through Augusta—as if the sight of a city aroused unpleasant memories.

It was clear that he did not wish to go home; and considering the fantastic delusions he seemed to have about his wife—delusions undoubtedly springing from some actual hypnotic ordeal to which he had been subjected—I thought it would be better if he did not. I would, I resolved, put him up myself for a time; no matter what unpleasantness it would make with Asenath.

Later I would help him get a divorce, for most assuredly there were mental factors which made this marriage suicidal for him.

Derniers albums de H.P. Lovecraft

During our sunset dash through Portland the muttering commenced again, more distinctly than before, and as I listened I caught a stream of utterly insane drivel about Asenath. His present predicament, he mumbled furtively, was only one of a long series. She was getting hold of him, and he knew that some day she would never let go.

Often he was left stranded somewhere as I had found him. The worst thing was that she was holding on to him longer and longer at a time. She wanted to be a man—to be fully human—that was why she got hold of him.

Classic Horror: The Thing on the Doorstep and other stories (audiobook)

She had sensed the mixture of fine-wrought brain and weak will in him. Yes, he knew about the Innsmouth blood now. There had been traffick with things from the sea—it was horrible.

And old Ephraim—he had known the secret, and when he grew old did a hideous thing to keep alive. Asenath would succeed—one successful demonstration had taken place already.