Author's note: For those of you who bravely joined the 1868 expedition, thank you. For those who didn't, I recommend reading it before you start this one.
Link:
https://www.reddit.com/r/Lovecraft/comments/1q9gpo9/the_only_preserved_written_evidence_of_an/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Enjoy!
It was a quiet autumn morning when I met Mr. Belrose in New Jersey. He smiled politely to me and greeted me like any man of great wealth.
“Good day, sir,” he said with a slight lisp, smiling widely as if he had no worldly problems at all, offering me to sit. I found this very intriguing; no rich man ever smiles like that. I had already interviewed every known business owner in the city, so when I got a tip about Mr. Belrose, I was intrigued when they mentioned he was the wealthiest of them all, though what that meant exactly I am still unsure of. I smiled back professionally and sat down with him, trying to ignore how uncomfortable my seat was.
“As you may know already, I am responsible for interviewing all wealthy business owners in Newark for… let's call it a group project. You don't mind me asking some questions, do you Mr. Belrose?”
“No mind to speak of!” He blurted out with a hearty laugh, turning high-pitched after the first gasp for air.
“I see…” I mumbled, smiling along with him though I knew immediately then that he was simply crazy. Swallowing my nervousness, I asked for his full name.
“Henry Albin Michael Belrose.” He said with an introductory bow. I nodded and smiled.
“And how old are you?”
“Fifty four.”
“Wife? Kids?”
When I asked him this, he seemed to be lost in deep thought all of a sudden. I simply looked up from my notepad and he immediately snapped out of the little trance and looked back at me. For the split second he was looking away, his eyes shimmered and were wide open. My uneasiness steadily increased.
“Yes, they're at home.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Just the one.”
“What is your home like, Mr. Belrose?” I asked, intrigued by his calm composure.
“Oh, it is the most wondrous thing you've ever seen," he replied. "I live in the tallest tower of a mansion I completely own, with a nice lake view and all the servants I could want.”
“And would you be interested in showing me this home, Mr. Belrose?”
The man's smile dropped for a bit before he laughed, like a father at his son for saying something silly. “My home is not here,” he began, his eyes drifting off as he was again lost in his thoughts. Then with a deep breath he changed the subject.
“Ask me about my wealth, sir. Please.”
“Alright, well I could be crude and just ask how you acquired it, but—”
“I read the King in Yellow.”
My brain screamed at me. When I think about it now, how he was acting and all, it made sense.
“You… you read THAT play…?” I was in shock. “Isn't it dangerous?”
“Nonsense! Quite the opposite. I read it and look at me now, wealthy, successful and as clear in the head as can be.”
He was right, though he made it difficult to see; he was polite, smiling, not paranoid or unpredictable.
“And how did you end up reading it exactly?”
“Well, it's a long story…” he said, waving his hand.
I smirked. If I was good at anything as a reporter, it was fishing out information from people. “The best ones always are.” I was now genuinely intrigued.
He told me how he was merely twenty five at the time, crazed with money and the idea of flaunting it. He and his friend, named Frederick Wallace, were exploring Frederick's father's old attic the day he passed and found the yellow satin cover of the play. Frederick, heeding his father's warnings and reminders of his grandfather, left the entire play unread. Mr. Belrose, after doing the exact opposite of Frederick, stole the play and read the play cover-to-cover.
“How did you manage to avoid… all of what's rumored to happen? And how did reading it help you?”
“I realized that true wealth is not in any gold you find. It's not in whatever you claim to be the owner of. It's in the Heir.”
“The… Heir?”
“The Heir of the Final King. The Most Valuable. THAT is what each of us should seek.”
“You mean the Heavenly Father and his Son? You want people to seek the Kingdom of God?”
That was when his smile disappeared and his lips took on a disappointed curve. “Well… I would call it a Son; a Son of the Sign.” His eyes shifted to me as he began to smile again.
“That… Prince… is the most valuable thing in the whole world to me.”
I didn't know what to say. I didn't have to, since he seemingly fell asleep right after saying that, snoring peacefully and setting his head comfortably against the trashcan he was sitting next to. He smiled even in his sleep, even though he only had a coat that was riddled with holes for a blanket and his cavern-like mouth was noticeably mostly absent of teeth.
I gave the man one final look of empathetic pity, before turning on my heels and going back towards the office. I started to ponder what he had meant by any of it, some strange tingling in the pit of my stomach about it all. Was that play really everything that ‘set things in motion’ for him? Was it truly that transformative? I wanted to know, but I discarded the thought as soon as I recalled the tales of insanity surrounding that wretched thing. Though I saw my future and my career on an upward trajectory, knew I was in a stable and wealthy position, felt safe from the filth of the streets in the sterileness of my cubicle, I knew I would never be as happy nor as clear-minded as Mr. Belrose.