As I sat in the train heading towards my destination, I wondered if I had made the correct decision. After all, I had precious little knowledge of those who would be awaiting me at the station. The only impressions I had of Providence were from the writings of H. P. Lovecraft, and so I had no idea what to expect when I arrived in that mystic city.

I allowed my mind to drift back to the first time I had encountered a Lovecraft story. I was an impressionable seventeen year old high school student, who, finding himself with an abundance of free time, undertook the task of locating fiction pertaining to my favorite subject: horror. Searching through the index file, I saw two books listed as being written by a person then unknown to me, H. P. Lovecraft.

I tracked down the books and proceeded to check them out, along with a volume of stories by Algernon Blackwood. I found a cubicle far away from the general populace, just in case I began to scream involuntarily; and I picked up the first book from the pile.

The first story I read was titled "The Outsider". From that point onward, I was engulfed in HPL's nightmare worlds of fungoid and amorphous horror; and I loved every minute of it. I must have read those two books at least four times apiece, but I never did get around to reading the Blackwood volume.

My obsession with Lovecraft and his works increased unabated, and my fate was sealed when I obtained a copy of a magazine called Lovecraft Studies. Being a true Lovecraftian by nature, I enjoyed the magazine no end, and I wrote its editor, S. T. Joshi, to express my pleasure with his fine product.

What followed was an enjoyable correspondence with S. T., although I must admit, I noticed that his letters were permeated with an unwholesome odour, and they were frequently covered with small splotches of an unrecognizable fungoid substance. Then came the letter inviting me to a Lovecraftian gathering on the anniversary of the exalted master's death, March 15.

I immediately made plans to attend, but as the date of my departure came closer, I became more and more tense and uneasy, almost as if I expected something untoward to happen. My discomfort did not disappear before I boarded the train on an unseasonably warm Sunday morning.

As the train approached the Providence station, I became aware of a strange tug upon the fibres of my soul. I knew that I was quickly approaching my destiny. The train pulled into the station and I disembarked.

I was immediately besieged by five wide-eyed people who fairly fell upon me, seeming to materialize from the very air itself. After overcoming my initial shock at the appearance of these people, I was introduced to each of them.

I was introduced to the aforementioned S. T. Joshi, the irrepressible Bob Price and his lady love Carol, [missing text] suppress the feeling that my new-found friends were hungrily eyeing me as a wolf eyes a plump sheep.

Climbing into Jason's car, I was spirited through the alleyways and byways of ancient Providence. My next few days were spent combing the streets and admiring the age-old buildings which lined the twisting catacombs of old Providence.

My trip was very pleasant so far, but I often caught scraps of disjointed conversation proclaiming that still greater horrors lay ahead.

With each passing day I grew to love this ancient city more and more, and my new companions along with it. I was initiated in many strange, unspeakable rites, such as the art of graveyard wandering, but I had unfortunately missed the forbidden graveyard ritual which could only be performed with a straw.

Now I ride with these mocking and friendly ghouls on the night wind, and play by day amongst the catacombs of Thayer Street. I know that light is not for me, save that of the moon over the domes and spires of Providence, nor any gaiety save the unnamed feasts of Nitokris beneath Swan Point; yet in my new wildness and freedom I almost welcome the bitterness of alienage.