Arguably, nothing establishes “Lovecraft country” more than the ruined hamlet of Dunwich. It appears in one of his most famous stories, “The Dunwich Horror” (published in the April 1929 issue of Weird Tales), and the location has become a by-word for all things Lovecraftian. According to Lovecraft, the hamlet lies in the Miskatonic Valley.
Although clearly identified with America in Mythos fiction, the name Dunwich has firm roots in the English countryside. Originally “New Dunnich,” it is the name of a small town and larger civil parish in the English country of Suffolk. It is one of the oldest parishes in the region and, at one time, was much bigger than a whole town. In fact, more than 1,500 years ago it was the capital of East Anglia and the seat of the most senior Anglican bishops. It was taken over by the pagan Norsemen around 870, but seems to have retained its Christian status. The Norman Domesday Book of 1086 states that there were at least three major churches there and a population of more than 3,000.
By the 1280s there were eight churches in the town and the population had grown so much that Dunwich was almost a city. It was also an incredibly prosperous place, boasting a large harbor and a series of waterfront warehouses and dwellings. In 1286, however, the coast of East Anglia experienced a storm of epic proportions and much of the town was lost in the tempest. The inhabitants fought hard to preserve the harbor—even though shipping to the port had declined— but another storm in 1328 caused even more damage and completely destroyed all coastal structures. A further tempest in 1347 completed the town’s devastation by sweeping another 400 houses into the sea. Today, Dunwich is no more than a seaside village, although it still retains its status as a town. The ruins of Greyfriars Abbey (a Franciscan Priory) and the Leper Hospital of St. James—both established in the town’s heyday—can still be seen.
The story of the rise and decline of Dunwich was documented in a number of history books and it is possible that Lovecraft may have read one of these and been fascinated by the account. A reference to Dunwich also appears in Arthur Machen’s novella The Terror, which Lovecraft read.
Lovecraft’s fictional New England Dunwich was founded in 1692 by a group who fled Salem to avoid the witch persecutions there. There were also members of another group who came along with them from the Merrymount (later Mount Dagon) settlement near what is now Quincy, Massachusetts. Among the arrivals were the Whatley family, who would become one of the foremost families in the new settlement.
For a while, Dunwich prospered. The Whatleys set up a number of mills in the area, which provided the backbone of the growing town’s industry throughout the 18th century. However, personal tragedy in 1806 trigged the mental collapse of their owner, George Whatley, which began a downward industrial and social spiral. The name George Whatley may have been “borrowed” from the 18th-century English industrialist and philanthropist George Whatley, who had supported the American Revolution and published the book Principles of Trade in 1774. He was also one of the founding members and a guardian (both vice-president and treasurer) of the Foundling Hospital in London.
As if mirroring the decline of the settlement, the Whatley family also degenerated. Some of them left the area and headed off to other parts of New England, and the remainder seemed split up into various branches, some more dissolute than others. There were whispers of insanity and incest amongst certain branches, but nothing was ever proven. With the closure of many mills, the population of Dunwich began to decease as younger folk drifted away to look for jobs elsewhere.
Today, Dunwich is mostly deserted. Much of the population that was left became increasingly degenerate and inbred, so much so that during the First World War, the authorities were unable to get their quota of draft recruits from the area. The inhabitants of the village tried to keep to themselves and to prevent outsiders from seeing what went on there. Throughout the years, Dunwich has sunk further and further into actual decay. Many of the houses are now in an advanced state of dereliction and are barely fit for human habitation. And yet, individuals continue to live there—individuals who are sometimes almost as decrepit as the very buildings themselves. Many are from a branch of the Whatleys who stayed in the area, and some are the Bishops, who were another family that settled close by.
Apart from the rotting village, the surrounding countryside has an eerie reputation. Strange low hills surround the settlement, and it’s said that from these strange noises are sometimes heard, the source of which seems to be deep underground. Curiously, these sounds are usually only heard at certain times of the year, for example at May Eve or at Halloween. In the late 1740s, Reverend Abijah Hoadley, a clergyman who took up a post in the Congregational Church at Dunwich in 1747, preached a curious sermon relating to the sounds, which was later published in Springfield, Massachusetts. In the sermon, Hoadley attributes the sounds to demons that were “sleeping beneath those hills.” Shortly after delivering the sermon, Abijah Hoadley mysteriously disappeared.
Dunwich’s gradual decline continued into the 20th century. Rumors concerning the place and its populace continued unabated; that far from being uneducated, certain individuals were engaging in peculiar study, the populace was practicing peculiar forms of worship and the noises in the hills had grown worse.
According to Lovecraft, Elezer or Noah Whatley (also known as “Old Whatley” or “the Wizard Whatley”) featured prominently in the folklore of the region around Dunwich, and his influence echoes all through “The Dunwich Horror.” He was the father of Lavinia Whatley and grandfather to her son Wilbur, who was killed in the Miskatonic University Library. It is said that the Wizard Whatley lived to an immense and uncanny age. Old Whatley’s neighbors viewed him with a mixture of fear and loathing, and viewed his interest in the stone circles on some of the hilltops, particularly one on Sentinel Hill, with some suspicion. It was generally agreed that he was a wizard and that he dealt with things that were far older than humanity. None in Dunwich dared question him, and his word was often law in the village.
At some time during his long life, the Wizard Whatley took a wife, although nothing much is known as to who this woman was. She gave birth to a girl, Lavinia, sometime around 1878. Around 1890, his wife disappeared or died, and vanishes from the pages of history. The Wizard Whatley died, apparently from natural causes, in 1924 but, even after all this time, his shadow still hangs over the decaying village like an ominous cloud. There are even some who say that he never died at all.
He left behind his daughter Lavinia who died two years after him. She was an albino and was considered to be mentally slow. In 1913, she gave birth to Wilbur (and apparently another “child”) although no one around Dunwich knew who the father might be. Wilbur grew up quickly, both in size and in intelligence, and could even speak quite articulately when only months old. At the time of his death, he was 8 feet tall. He had an extremely dubious reputation among the other folk of the village, and it is said that Lavinia was terrified of him, but like his grandfather, he had a reputation as something of a scholar, particularly of the darker arts. He corresponded with a number of individuals— some in other parts of the world— including Dr. Henry Armitage, the Librarian at Miskatonic University. On Halloween night in 1926, Lavinia simply disappeared and no trace of her was ever found—it was assumed that she had perhaps been murdered by Wilbur, but nobody could prove it. Wilbur died in 1928 trying to steal a copy of the Necronomicon from the Miskatonic University Library. His body mysteriously vanished under curious circumstances, however, after his death, cattle and other livestock started to disappear in the countryside around Dunwich and there was some talk of people vanishing as well. Back at Miskatonic University, Armitage began to fear what was actually happening in the hill country and set out for the village with Professors Rice and Morgan. The veil between our own world and the existence of the Great Old Ones had been compromised by Whatley’s sorceries. On the top of Sentinel Hill, a lonely promontory outside the village, Armitage performed an exorcism and drove the entities back. Following these events, all signs showing the way to Dunwich were torn down, references to the town disappeared from maps, and the place has been nearly forgotten. And yet, it is still said that something still lurks out there in the hills—something connected to that terrible time.
The area is also of passing interest to archaeologists who seem to be fascinated by the queer stone circles and standing monoliths that adorn the tops of some of the strange hills. No real explanation has ever been given for these structures, and they are certainly not artifacts of Native American cultures. Some seem to think that they might come from an extremely ancient prehistoric culture that once controlled the region and that they are somehow linked to the underground noises among the hills. However, what that connection might be is unclear and only adds to the mystery of the district.
One of the more significant elements in “The Dunwich Horror” is, of course, the strange noises in the hills around the village, which are suggested as evidence for the activity of the Great Old Ones in their underground lairs. When the Reverend Abijah Hoadley spoke about them in his sermon, he ascribed them to the activities of demons lurking in the depths of the earth; others have suggested that they were something else.
Although such phenomena seem weird and perhaps frightening, they are not altogether unusual. There have been a number of “sound sites” all across America, Europe, and Scandinavia where unexplained noises in the air or from under the ground have sometimes unsettled local communities. Many of these can usually be explained by scientific means or theory: movements in geological formations, collapses in underground workings such as mine shafts, and so forth. However, some areas sometimes defy such rational explanation.
Certainly the area around the former village of East Haddam, Connecticut, is such a place. This is a site where noises are often still heard with surprising regularity. In fact, the old Native American name for the region, according to the New England historian and folklorist Samuel Drake, is Machemoodus, which simply means “the place of noises.” Since records have been kept, strange sounds ringing through the air or from below the ground have been heard by a great many people, some of whom have recorded their experiences. Many of these accounts tell of great roaring noises, sometimes accompanied by a distinct quaking of the ground.
One of the earliest accounts of the noises is given in a 1729 letter from Reverend Hosmer, a local minister, to Mr. Prince of Boston, Massachusetts. In it, he states that the area is a very old one, and was formerly used by the Indians for their pow-wows. Allied to the words of the gods was a shaking and trembling of the earth and this continued, together with the peculiar noises, long after the Indians had departed from that particular area. The explanation was that the Indian gods were angry because the settlers’ had come to the region and had displaced them, and they were making their displeasure known in a tangible form. Reverend Hosmer claimed to have heard nine or 10 such sounds—thundering roars, screams, groans, and frightful, distant shouting—coupled with a shaking of the earth, which lasted for a full five minutes on one occasion. These sounds were heard, he went on, throughout his parish for at least 20 or 30 years previously, and had occurred at fairly regular intervals. If anything, they were becoming more terrifying.
The sounds, according to Reverend Hosmer, started like “a slow thunder, coming down from the North.” They would then take on a noise like a cannon being fired or a continuous round of musket shot, which seemed to pass through the ground, directly under the settlement and the very feet of those who lived there. Houses would shudder and crockery would fall off shelves and break. But even then, things were not finished, for the rumblings would turn into sounds up in the air like screams and voices talking, people shouting a long way off, and unseen explosions that reverberated all around the Haddam area. He went on to state the danger of “shaking ground,” but added that recently (around 1729) the noises had become fewer in number and that their effect—the trembling and shaking of the earth—had become slightly less violent. Indeed, he continued, there had only been two occurrences within 1728 and 1729.
Some scientific figures within the community stated that the sounds and vibrations were entirely natural and were due to the movements of air within subterranean caverns far beneath the surface of the earth. Other noises were not voices at all, but were made by wind trapped in underground tunnels. Hosmer, however, was not so sure. In his letter, he dubbed the sounds “the Moodus noises,” and suggested that they might be of supernatural origin. Indians, he pointed out, tended to fear and shun the area because they were terrified of the wrath of their own gods. He said an old Indian who dwelt in the place had told him that these gods would take their revenge on anyone who settled in the place, because it was a sacred site and the good Reverend thought that there might indeed be something in this. The vestiges of former paganism, he believed, still lingered in the area and had an effect upon it.
The Reverend Hosmer’s romanticised supernatural views seem to have won over scientific investigation as far as the settlers of East Haddam were concerned. Many took to wearing protective charms and amulets against whatever evil the sounds threatened to bring them. In fact, there seemed to be a common consensus that epidemics of disease and other misfortunes coincided with the noises in the hills. To add to the feelings of supernatural terror, lights were sometimes seen flickering along river banks and in the forests, and this stoked ancient fears and tensions.
Around 1731, a certain traveler passed through East Haddam. Several accounts mention him, but the main reference comes from Reverend Hosmer, who gave only a brief account of his activities. The traveler was named Dr. Steele, who came from England. He was intrigued by the Moodus noises and seemingly stopped to investigate them, questioning many inhabitants of the settlement. He heard several old Indian legends and this appears to have piqued the Doctor’s curiosity even more. In fact, he took up residency in East Haddam and opened a blacksmith’s shop there. Strangely, he worked the forge only at night and turned away people who came to him with legitimate business, which led the people of East Haddam to suspect that he was engaged in some sort of occult enterprise. At the same time, the noises in the hills seemed to grow in frequency and intensity, and the local people approached the doctor and asked him what he was doing. The magician replied that he was engaged in an occult experiment of a momentous nature, and was attempting to grow a massive carbuncle far below the surface, which would draw all the arcane forces of the area into it. There would then be no more noises. Not only this, but Dr. Steele made certain replicas of the carbuncle, which he sold to local people as protection against the Moodus noises and against the quakes and tremors that they created. He enjoyed a large market for his artifacts, although the sceptics stated that he had created the market for himself by preying on the superstitions of the settlers. Steele further declared that the “Place of Noises” was actually the site where a very powerful wizard had been buried, and that the noises were actually the groanings and stirrings of this magician’s evil soul. However, he urged the people not to be afraid, as the magical carbuncle that he was creating would draw the poisonous forces into it and render them harmless. Steele immediately gained a wide acceptance of his beliefs around East Haddam, and became something of a major figure in the area.
Shortly after Steele began his work, the noises began to die away and subside completely, so it seemed that the Doctor’s experiments were bearing fruit. No sooner had the sounds started to diminish than the doctor suddenly and inexplicably packed up and moved away from East Haddam overnight. In fact, nobody saw him go, but in the morning his forge was deserted. He was never seen or heard from again. After a while, people began to wonder if there truly had been a Doctor Steele. Some believed that he’d been an angel sent to help the people of East Haddam, although many others said that he’d been an evil spirit. He left behind a number of ancient books on magic, some of which were written in a language that nobody could read; this was to energize the buried carbuncle should the noises return—which in time, they did. The people patiently waited for Dr. Steele to return and use the books, but he never did.
By the late 1830s, the Moodus noises had returned, together with the trembling of the ground, with renewed ferocity. By the 1840s they were worse than they had ever been. Many in the community remembered Dr. Steele and his allegedly miraculous underground carbuncle, and some speculated that the magical artifact had now worn away and that the dark Indian spirits had returned thirsting for vengeance. Distant and shouting voices were frequently hard, as were strange mutterings from the air, while the ground shook underfoot and it was said that the ghosts of long-dead Indians were holding some kind of Satanic war-dance among the hills.
Once again a mysterious figure showed up to deal with the eerie phenomena—this time in the shape of a traveling hill preacher named Robert Edge. Edge is something of an enigma who appears in the folklore of several New England communities and seems to be a cross between a man of God and a pagan shaman. For a little while, he stayed with a local family in East Haddam organizing a series of tent missions—“days of holying”—at which he preached terrible “hellfire and brimstone” sermons, many concerning the Great Day of Judgement and the end of all things. During his stay in East Haddam, Edge discovered the mysterious books that Dr. Steele had left behind. Taking the books with him, Edge went up into the hill country just as the sounds began again and read out words and phrases in an unintelligible tongue. These were read in an imperious and authoritative tone and, although the sounds did not disappear, they certainly decreased both in frequency and volume.
Shortly after his visit, Robert Edge disappeared in exactly the same way as Dr. Steele had. He simply walked out into the night and vanished. For a while after his disappearance, the noises continued, but they were steadily growing more and more infrequent and had less of an impact on the area. Gradually, they had become so infrequent that they had really become no more than a cultural memory and had passed into regional folklore.
There is one last curious twist in the tale, however. As the War between the states moved toward its bloody conclusion around 1864, the sounds returned with something of a renewed vigor, as did the vibrations in the ground. Although not as strong as they had once been, they were certainly disruptive enough to be noticed. And as before, there were sounds like distant thunder and men shouting, screaming, and chanting, and once again they were associated with the old Indian pow-wows that took place in the region. Others offered the explanation that the wanton spilling of blood across the land during the Civil War had stimulated the appetites of the ancient forces and that they were making their presence known in East Haddam again. Almost as soon as the War ended, however, the noises began to drift away again, and the tremors began to diminish.
Since then, there has been little to report. On occasion, some individuals in the East Haddam area claim to have heard peculiar noises or eerie voices calling to them or to have experienced slight tremors in the ground, but nothing like the 18th and 19th centuries. Many of these accounts are simply ignored or dismissed, and even the name of the “Place of Noises” has been all but forgotten, even in the locality. The Moodus spirits seem to have been stilled at last.
One fragment of the legend can be found in the form of a very long poem by local poet John Brainard, which was later turned into a local ballad. A little East Haddam girl sang the poem in its entity for Samuel Drake when he visited the area in 1883. The last verse states:
THE CARBUNCLE LIES IN THE DEEP, DEEP SEA,
BENEATH THE MIGHTY WAVE,
BUT THE LIGHT SHINES UPWARD SO GLORIOUSLY,
THAT THE SAILOR LOOKS PALE, FORGETS HIS GLEE,
WHEN HE CROSSES THE WIZARD’S GRAVE.
In the late 19th century, variants and sections of this ballad were known and sung all across New England, and were sometimes recited in schools there, often as part of the end of year festivities.
Could it be that Lovecraft knew of the curious events in East Haddam and incorporated them into his tale concerning the ruined village of Dunwich? After all, rural Connecticut is not all that far from his native Rhode Island, so it is possible that he might have known of the events in East Haddam. Whether he did or not, such occurrences add to the eerie atmosphere of the decrepit place, and makes us ask what may truly be lurking under the remote hills of New England.