The Crowcombe Imp.

Prydonian Society Files

Event # 5345 “The Crowcombe Imp”.

Location: TA4 4AD

Transcript begins:

Brooding at the foot of the steep south-western slopes of Somerset’s ancient Quantock Hills is the village of Crowcombe.  Its mellow stones and venerable lanes have dreamed away the centuries in a splendid isolation, and her secrets would have remained just that– secret, but for a chance visit of John Stephen Pentecost, an associate member of the Society, in the early 1960s. (Archivist’s note: See files on Pentecost, J S, “The Ever-living Man”- Restricted Section, Prydonian Society Library, (PSL) Forge 3 facility).

The first written mention of Crowcombe was in 854, in a document of King Ethelwulf who was father of Alfred the Great, where it was spelt 'Cerawicombe'. Fifty years later some land at 'Crawncombe' was granted to Alfred's son, King Edward the Elder, and appears to have remained in the possession of the Saxon kings It passed to the Earl Godwin and then on to his death to his widow Gytha. Gytha granted the estate to Winchester to atone for her husband’s sins.

These sins, much documented and long since forgotten, were, however, not to be bought off so easily.  The Ancient Church of the Holy Ghost had been built on the remains of an earlier, Saxon foundation, which in turn had been placed on the site of a grove or shrine sacred to a far older faith. A faith indeed, that some whispered antedated mankind itself. (Archivist’s note: Ref  616/33: Cthulhu Mythos, PSL Resrticted Section, Miskatonic University facility)

Carved into the armrest of the pew or stall dedicated to the Carew family, successors to the Saxon landowners of Cerawicombe, was a curious face or mask. Often described as an example of the traditional “Green Man” of English mythology, the carving had a subtly disturbing aspect, and had been the subject of discussion and controversy for at least two centuries. The visits of such persons as Aleister Crowley and Emil Keller in the 1930s had done little to endear the carving to the staid religionists of Crowcombe. The later brief examination of the carving by the Rev R Magister in the 1970s resulted in the sudden resignation of the incumbent minister, his churchwardens and the final removal of the whole stall itself. (Archivist’s note: See Files on the Devil’s End Incident, PSL Restricted Section, MOD facility)

The Society’s direct involvement in Crowcombe began in August 1966, when the Castellan of the time, (Name withheld), authorised a Class 2 Excision Action following the receipt of certain information from John Stephen Pentecost in July of that year. It was in fact, Pentecost himself who performed the excision, which action resulted in the loss of his life. The Society naturally took on the responsibility of bringing up Pentecost’s as then unborn son (Archivist’s note: See files on Pentecost, J S, “The Ever-living Man”- Restricted Section, Prydonian Society Library, (PSL) Forge 3 facility). Pentecost, a slight, grey haired figure, with curiously mismatched eyes, had been holidaying in the West Country following a troubling experience involving the Police investigations into the Inferno Club in Soho (Pentecost Papers vol 4, PSL Open Section, Forge 3 facility). Instructed by his doctor to rest, he had decided to tour the ancient Mesolithic sites of his beloved Cornwall before returning via Dorset and Somerset to his work in London. He had booked himself into the Carew Arms in Crowcombe, famed for its fine food and finer ales, and looked forward to a peaceful stopover in which to collate his notes and photographs.

On the evening of his arrival, Pentecost decided to take a stroll around the village before dinner, and his tour naturally took in the church and its small churchyard. Despite the month, the weather had been disappointing, and the looming hills with their dense, writhing woodlands cast an unseasonable darkness over the village, making it seem far later than it actually was. Having read about the church, its history and encumbrances, Pentecost was curious to view the ancient carving, but despite spending some half hour within the hallowed building, he was unable to actually find it. Deciding to complete his stroll and try to complete his researches in daylight, he set off out of the church and down the lane towards the main road, thinking to walk completely around the village before returning to the inn. He had been walking for only two or three minutes, when a sudden movement caught his eye. Something small, bent and twisted appeared to scurry across the road just behind him and disappear into the hedgerow. A feeling of unaccountable unease came over him, for something in the way the thing had moved struck Pentecost as distorted and unnatural. Examining the hedge where the thing had seemed to vanish, he could however find nothing– no track or disturbance in the grass and leaves to suggest anything larger than a bird had been there at all. Another may have dismissed the incident as nothing more than a fox and a trick of the light, but Pentecost had had cause in the past to trust his instincts, and his instincts were telling him to take care and be on his guard. Accordingly, he loosened the head of the sword-stick he habitually carried and turned to take the shorter route back to his inn.

It was then he heard rather than saw the creature. A curious low whistling, almost on the edge of perception and maddeningly familiar, like a tune from childhood, came from somewhere to his right, while the unmistakable sound of bracken being brushed aside came towards him. What particularly disturbed Pentecost was the fact that the noises indicated a being substantially larger than the twisted dwarf or imp he had seen only a few minutes earlier.  Drawing his sword stick fully out of his cane, he also made several small motions with his left hand, and murmured a few words taught to him by his father’s great friend, the Duc de Richelieu. The weird whistling seemed to falter and stutter, but then returned more loudly and with an even more insistent and even hungry quality. At this point Pentecost discovered to his horror that he could no longer move his legs. He appeared to be held motionless against his conscious efforts to hurry back to the safety of the inn and his room. Calling upon all the Society’s training, and his own experience and knowledge, Pentecost made a decision that was to have long term consequences, and was the indirect cause of his later death during the Excision. He used the blade of his sword stick to open a deep cut across his left hand and used his own blood to prime a small device he had “borrowed” unofficially from the Prydonian Society’s experimental armoury division in (Location withheld ). Activating this device, Pentecost did that thing which should never be done except in the direst emergency, when the very soul is in peril of destruction. In a sharp clear voice he pronounced the last two lines of the dread Sussamma Ritual.

It was almost noon the following day when Pentecost emerged from his room at The Carew Arms and made his way to the dining room. His slight figure seemed leaner than ever, and his grey hair looked oddly thinner, but he ate ravenously and responded to the flirts of his waitress with his usual wry wit. On finishing his lunch he requested the use of the telephone and spent a substantial amount of both time and shillings on the conversation that followed. After this call, he seemed unusually curt and distant and his mismatched eyes were shadowed in a frown of both concentration and concern. He called for and paid his bill, announcing that he needed to cut short his stay and return to London on urgent business, but that he would return in the not too distant future. It was the shocking events of this return visit that resulted in the cleansing of Crowcombe, the death of John Stephen Pentecost and the orphaning of his unborn son, Marcus Stephen Pentecost, a boy who would share both his father’s curiously mismatched eyes and his usefulness to the Prydonian Society.