From the September '37 issue of Horror Tales, a magazine of supernatural and thriller fiction tales for young people. This letter is reproduced exactly as I found it.
August 20th, 1937
To the Editors of Horror Tales:
I have been an avid (I daresay voracious) reader of Horror Tales since I was first introduced, at the age of fifteen, to your pages in the summer of 1932 by my (now late) uncle Homer. Since that time, I have never missed an issue, and have managed to scrounge up almost every back-issue dating from your delightful magazine's conception. And though I can't imagine a more devoted fan than myself, I am writing to request that you refrain from publishing certain tales, which make use of a certain particularly repulsive and immoral conceit.
Over the years, I've seen a great many excellent writers bless your pages with truly frightening and macabre stories. However, there are certain stories which make reference to a book named the "Necronomicon." This book, which occupies a place in the plots of stories alongside fantastic and indescribable monsters, is most often mentioned in works penned by Misters Lovecraft, Smith, or Long. While I definitely enjoy the fictive elements of the stories written by these gentlemen, I feel that a certain narrative trick of which they have availed themselves is particularly disingenuous.
The conceit to which I refer is the presentation of certain "facts" about the manuscript in a context that gave the impression that its existence was fictional, by virtue of the fact that the events attributed to its influence were fictional. Surely, this was to mitigate the potential impact of the story on the reader, as it permits him a way to restore his former metaphysical sense once the suspension of disbelief has rewarded him with the terror he sought when he picked up the magazine. Because of this very practical psychological consideration, I'm at odds as to whether I should actually reveal the truth, which would undoubtedly do some real psychical trauma to your more sensitive readers, but finally decided that these authors should really not be giving such imaginative readers such potentially harmful leads.
There is, in fact, a book called the "Necronomicon." The edition I examined was not signed, but I find it doubtful that it would have been authored by any "Abdul Alhazred," which is, to anyone relatively familiar with Arabic, obviously a nonsensical pseudonym. The book is not even written in Arabic at all. It's actually written in a very neat but heretofore undescribed hand, bearing little resemblance at all to Arabic. In accordance with legend, however, it is actually written in the Latin and Greek languages, rather than any tongue native to the Arabian peninsula; this indicates that modern writers may have heard about it through second-hand sources. I have so far been unable to determine where, exactly, such sources could be found.
The manuscript I saw was in the estate of my uncle Homer, who passed away in January of this year, though not before secretly undertaking an extensive project of transliteration and translation. It is bound in a strange yellow leather and has a dull brass clasp. According to my uncle's notes, it is a product of the Fourth Century, though the exact date is unknown. The unknown character seems to serve as a cypher. Given the content of the text, this is an understandable precaution.
The title of the book itself, "Necronomicon," gives a good indication of the grim and horrid nature of its chapters. The Latin suffix, "-icon," indicates that the work is a codex manuscript on the subject of "nekronomike." (Unlike most western codices, the Necronomicon is bound along the right-hand side of the page, rather than the left, and one reads the right-hand page first, rather than the left. This gives one the impression of reading the book backwards.) This word, "nekronomike," is derived from two Greek roots: "nekros," meaning corpse; and "nomos," meaning law or order — human law or cosmic law, depending on the context. The title of the book can therefore be translated as, "Treatise on the Laws of Death."
The "laws of death" described in the Necronomicon are not limited to discussions of biological disruption and decay, though it delves into these topics quite extensively and with a sophistication not to be matched until the rise of modern science, if even. Nor is it limited to necromancy or other magic spells, divinations, and abjurations, though more than one chapter is devoted entirely to describing exercises which will extend one's perceptions beyond the veil of death. No, beyond these gruesome but otherwise banal discussions, the Necronomicon contains vain and vile metaphysics, the foundations of a profane religion which celebrates a revolting mockery of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. I can't even begin to describe how thoroughly offensive and disgusting the book really is.
My uncle seems to have decoded the text using tables of letter frequency for both Latin and Greek. I do not know why my uncle just so happened to try these languages first, but I am also not aware of the specific circumstances under which he obtained the book in the first place; perhaps he was privy to clues to which I will never have access. In any event, he was able to deduce a simple symbol substitution from the boustrophedon text. After he painstakingly transliterated the entire manuscript into Roman character, he proceeded to translate the entire work into English. I have seen fit to burn all of his notes. I have so far been unable to burn the manuscript itself; every time I take a lit match to it, my mind becomes clouded as if with some mental ink polluting my pristine waters, and I am rendered practically deaf by the overwhelming sound of buzzing insects, though none actually appear. These phenomena incapacitate me whenever I take any action whatsoever to destroy the text, and therefore I have hidden it where no innocent curious would-be anthropologist might accidentally stumble across it ever, ever, ever, ever.
Sometimes, late at night, I hear the voice of Uncle Homer talking to me. He's long dead, of course, but sometimes he suggests things to me, like that I ought to burn all of my money, desecrate a grave or harm an animal. I tell him he's foolish, but he never goes away, not ever, ever. Never, never. I thought that burning his notes would finally sever whatever bane connection he maintained with me from beyond, but it seems that his new found post mortem lust for violence has only increased. Therefore I have decided to take more direct action. Tonight, after I have mailed this letter, I shall take a revolver to my head and cure this inky black darkness penetrate it open a new little lead window to the Light and be silent for ever ever ever ever.
It is imperative that you not publish any stories invoking the name of the Necronomicon. For the safety of your readers (as well as yourselves) you must see fit to refuse any submission or commission which so much as contains the word itself.
Sincerely,
Cecil P. Docker,
Hebron,
Connecticut
Does anyone else know what to make of this? I only found it this morning while going through some of my grandfather's old magazines.