Are you inquisitive? Do you want to know things?
Too many things?
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Out of the Jar
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By Charles R. Tanner
I
am presenting here, at the insistence of my friend,
James Francis Denning, an account of an event or series
of events which, he says, occurred to him during the
late summer and early fall of 1940. I do so, not because
I concur in the hope which Denning has that it may
arouse serious investigation of the phenomena he claims
took place, but merely that a statement of those
phenomena may be placed on record, as a case history for
future students of occult phenomena or — psychology.
Personally, I am still unpersuaded under which head this
narration should be placed.
Were my mind one of those which accepts witches,
vampires and werewolves in the general scheme of
things, I would not doubt for a moment the truth of
Denning’s tale, for certainly the man believe it
himself; and his lack of imagination and matter-of-fact
mode of living up until the time of the occurrence speak
strongly in his favor. And then too, there is the mental
breakdown of the brilliant young Edward Barnes Halpin,
as added evidence. This young student of occult history
and the vague lesser known cults and religions was a
fairly close acquaintance of Denning’s for years, and it
was at Denning’s home that he suffered the stroke which
made him the listless, stricken thing that he is today.
That much is fact and can be attested to by any number
of people. As to Denning’s explanation, I can only say
that it deserves a thorough investigation. If there is
any truth in it at all, the truth should certainly be
verified and recorded. And so, to the story.
It began, Denning says, in the summer of last year, when
he attended a sale disposing of the stock of one of
those little secondhand stores that call themselves
antique shops and are known to most people as junk
shops. There was the usual hodge-podge of Indian curios,
glassware, Victorian furniture and old books; and
Denning attended it as he did every event of this kind,
allowing himself to indulge in the single vice which he
had — that of filling his home with a stock of cheap and
useless curios from all parts of the world.
At this particular sale he emerged triumphantly with a
carved elephant tusk, an Alaskan medicine man’s mask and
— an earthenware jar. This jar was a rather ordinary
thing, round-bodied, with a very short cylindrical neck
and with a glazed band around its center, blue glaze,
with curious angular characters in yellow that even the
rather illiterate Denning could see bore a certain
relation to Greek characters. The auctioneer called it
very old, said it was Syraic or Samaritan and called
attention to the seal which was affixed to the lid. This
lid was of earthenware similar to the jar and was set in
the mouth after the manner of a cork and a filling of
what seemed to be hard-baked clay sealed it in. And on
this baked clay, or whatever it was, had been stamped a
peculiar design — two triangles interwoven to form a
six-pointed star, with three unknown characters in the
center. Although the auctioneer was as ignorant as
Denning as to the real significance of this seal, he
made a mystery of it and Denning was hooked. He bought
the thing and brought it home, where it found a place,
in spite of his wife’s objections, on the mantle in the
living room.
And here it rested, in a questionable obscurity, for a
matter of four or five months. I say questionable
obscurity, for as near as I can gather it was the bone
of contention, during most of that time, between
Denning and his wife. It was but natural, I think, that
this estimable lady should object to having the best
room in their little home filled with what were to her a
mass of useless objects. Yet nothing was done about it.
In the light of Denning’s story of subsequent events, it
seems almost incredible that that frightful thing could
sit there, day after day, in that commonplace living
room, being taken down and dusted now and then and
carelessly placed back.
Yet such was the case, and such remained the case until
the first visit of young Halpin. This young man was an
acquaintance of Denning’s of long standing, and their
friendship had been slowly ripening during the last
year, owing to the fact that Halpin was able to add much
to Denning’s knowledge of the curios which he
accumulated. Both of them worked for the same
company and, seeing each other every day, it was not
unusual that they had become quite friendly in spite of
the fact that neither had ever visited the other’s home.
But Denning’s description of certain carvings on the
elephant’s tusk which he had bought interested young
Halpin sufficiently to cause him to pay a visit to
Denning’s home to make a personal examination of the
tusk.
Halpin, at this time, was still under thirty, yet he had
become already a recognized authority in this country of
that queer borderland of mystic occult study that Church
ward, Fort, Lovecraft and the Miskatonic school
represent. His articles on some of the obscure chapters
of d’Erlette’s “Cultes des Goules” has been accepted
favorably by American occult students, as well as his
translation of the hitherto expurgated sections of the
Gaelic “Leabhar Mor Dubh.” In all, he was a most
promising student and one in whom the traits of what now
seem to have been incipient dementia praecox were
conspicuous by their absence. Indeed, one of his
strongest characteristics, Denting tells me, was a
pronounced interest in almost everything about
“He was like that, the night that he first visited me,”
says Denning. ‘He looked over the tusk, explained all
the curious carvings that he could and made little
sketches of the remaining figures, to take away and
study. Then his eyes began roving about the room and
pretty soon they noticed some other little thing, I
don’t remember just what, and he began talking about
that. I had a couple of Folsom points — those curious
flints that are supposed to be much older than any other
American artifacts — and he spoke about them for nearly
twenty minutes.
“Then he laid them down and was up and around the room
again; and presently he picked up something else and was
talking about that. I used to learn an awful lot from Ed
Halpin, but I think I learned more that tight than I
ever did at any other one time. And at last his eyes lit
on that jar.”
Yes, his eyes lit on the jar, and started the series of
happenings that at last made this story necessary.
For Halpin was stricken with a sudden curiosity, picked
up the jar and glanced over it, and then suddenly
became wildly excited. “Why, it’s old!” he
ejaculated. “It’s ancient Hebrew, Jim. Where
in the world did you get it?”
Denning told him, but his curiosity was unappeased. He
spent several minutes trying to extract from Denning a
knowledge which it became obvious that the latter did
not possess. It was easy to see that Halpin already knew
more concerning the jar than did Denning, and so his
questions ceased.
“But surely you know what it is supposed to be, don’t
you?” quizzed Halpin. “Didn’t the auctioneer tell you
anything about it? Didn’t you see the previous owner?
Lord, Denning! How can you find interest in these
things, if you don’t learn all you can of them?”
Denning was rendered apologetic by his evident
exasperation, and Halpin suddenly relented, laughed and
started to explain.
“That six-pointed star, Jim, is known as Solomon’s seal.
It has been a potent sign used in Hebraic cabala for
thousands of years. What has me interested is its use in
connection with Phoenician characters around the body of
the vase. That seems to indicate a real antiquity. It
might just be possible that this is actually the seal of
Solomon himself! Jim,” his attitude suddenly changed.
“Jim, sell me this thing, will you?”
Now, it seems incredible that Denning saw no slightest
gleam of light in this guarded explanation of Halpin’s.
The young student certainly was aware of much of the
importance of the jar, but Denning insists that the
explanation meant nothing whatever to him. To be sure,
Denning was no student, he had probably never heard of
the Cabala, nor of Abdul Alhazred or Joachim of Cordoba,
but surely, in his youth he had read the “Arabian
Nights”. Even that should have given him a clue.
Apparently not — he tells me that he refused
Halpin’s offer to buy the vase, simply because of a
collector’s vagary. He felt that; well, to use his
own words: “If it was worth ten dollars to him, it was
worth ten dollars to me.”
And so, though Halpin increased the offer which he first
made, Denning was obdurate. Halpin left with merely an
invitation to come back at any time and examine the vase
to his heart’s content.
During the next three weeks, Halpin did return, several
times. He copied down the inscription on the blue band,
made a wax impression of the seal, photographed the vase
and even went so far as to measure it and weigh it. And
all the time his interest increased and his bids for the
thing rose higher. At last, unable to raise his
offer further, he was reduced to pleading with Denning
that he sell it, and at this, Denning grew angry.
“I told him,” says Denning, “I told him that I was
getting sick and tired of his begging. I said I
wasn’t going to sell it to him and that, even if it cost
me our friendship, that vase was going to stay mine.
Then he started on another line. He wanted to open
it and see what was inside.
“But I had a good excuse for not complying with that
plea. He himself had told me of the interest that
attached to the seal on the clay and I wasn’t going to
have that broken if I knew myself. I was so positive on
this score that he gave in and apologized again. At
least, I thought he gave in. I know different now, of
course.”
We all know different now. Halpin had decided to
open the vase at any cost, and so had merely given up
the idea of trying to buy it. We must not think,
however, that he had been reduced to the status of a
common thief in spite of his later actions. The
young man’s attitude was explainable to any one who can
understand the viewpoint of a student of science. Here
was an opportunity to study one of the most perplexing
problems of occult art, and obstinacy, combined with
ignorance, was trying to prevent it. He determined to
circumvent Denning, no matter to what depths he had to
stoop.
Thus it was that several nights later Jim Penning was
awakened, sometime during the early morning hours, by a
slight, unusual noise on the lower floor of his home. At
first but half awake, he lay and listlessly pondered the
situation. Had his wife awakened and gone downstairs for
a midnight snack? Or had he heard, perhaps, a mouse in
the kitchen? Could it be — a sleeping sigh from his
wife’s bed made him realize that it wasn’t she and at
the same moment came a repetition of the sound — a dull
“clunk” as of metal -striking muffled metal. Instantly
alert, he rose from his pillow, stepped out of bed,
fumbled for robe and slippers and was tiptoeing down the
steps, stopping only long enough to get his revolver
from the drawer in which he kept it.
From the landing he could see a dim light in the living
room, and again he heard the “clunk” that he had heard
before. By leaning far over the banister, he was able to
look into the living room, where he could see, by the
light of a flashlight lying on the floor, the dark form
of a man; his long overcoat and hat effectively
concealing all his features. He was stooping over a
round object, and as Denning looked, he raised a hammer
and brought it down sharply but carefully on a chisel
which he held in his hand. The hammer’s head was wrapped
in rags and again Denning heard the dull noise which had
awakened him.
Of course, Denning knew at once who ‘the dark form was.
He knew that the round object was his vase. But he
hesitated to make an outcry or even to interrupt the
other for several seconds. He seemed a little uncertain
as to the reason for this, but I am convinced, from what
I know of Denning’s character, that curiosity had gotten
the better of him. Half consciously, he was determined
to find out just why Halpin was so interested in the
vase. So he remained silent, and it was only after
several seconds that some slight noise he made caused
Halpin to turn in a panic.
As he did so, the last bit of seal crumbled from the
jar, and rising, he still clung unconsciously to the
lid. The jar turned over on its side and lay there for a
moment unnoticed. Halpin was almost horror-stricken at
the realization that he had been caught, as the lawyers
say, in flagrante delicto. He burst into chattering,
pleading speech.
“Don’t call the police, Jim! Listen to me. I wasn’t
going to steal it, Jim. I’d have been gone with it long
ago if I had intended to steal it. Honest Let me tell
you, Jim. It’s one of Solomon’s jars; all right I was
only going to open it. Good Lord, man, haven’t you ever
read about them? Listen, Jim, haven’t you ever heard
those old Arabian legends? Let-me tell you about them,
Jim—”
As he spoke, Denning had descended the stairs. He
stepped into the room and seized Halpin by the shoulders
and angrily shook him.
“Quit babbling, Halpin. Don’t act like a damned fool. I
guess the jar and its contents are still mine. Come on,
snap out of it and tell me what this is all about.”
Halpin swallowed his panic and sighed.
“There are old Arabian and Hebrew legends, Jim, that
speak of a group or class of beings called Jinn. A lot
of the stuff about them is claptrap, of course, but as
near as we can make out, they were a kind of super-being
from some other plane of existence. Probably they were
the same things that other legends have called the Elder
Ones, or the Pre-Adamites. Perhaps there are a dozen
names for them if they are the same beings that appear
in myths of other countries. Before the time of man,
they ruled the world; but fighting among themselves and
certain conditions during the Glacial Period caused
them to become almost extinct, here on this earth. But
the few that were left caused damage enough among men
until the time of King Solomon.
Arabian legend says that Solomon was the greatest of all
kings, and from an occult standing I guess he was, in
spite of the fact that the kingdom he ruled over was
little more than a jerk-water principality, even in that
age. But Solomon’s occult knowledge was great
enough to enable him to war on the Jinn and to conquer
them. And then, because it was impossible to kill them
(their metabolism is entirely different from ours), he
sealed them up into jars and cast the jars into the
depths of the sea!”
Denning was still dense.
“Halpin, you’re not trying to tell me that you expect to
find a Jinn in that jar, are you? You’re not such a
superstitious fool as to believe—”
“Jim, I don’t know what I believe. There’s no record of
such a jar as this having ever been found before. But I
know that the Elder Ones once existed, and from an
examination of that jar an occult might learn much
concerning-”
While Halpin had been speaking, Denning’s eye had fallen
on the jar, lying where it had tumbled at Halpin’s
sudden rising. And the hair on Denning’s neck quivered
with a wave of horripilation, as he stammered suddenly:
“For the love of God, Halpin, look at that jar!”
Halpin’s eyes turned at Denning’s first words and he,
too, stared, unable to take his eyes off the thing that
was taking place. From the mouth of the jar was flowing,
slowly, sluggishly, a thick, viscous mass of bluish,
faintly luminous stuff. The mass was spreading, oozing
across the floor, reaching curious curdly pseudo-pods
out in all directions, acting, not like an inert viscous
body should, but like
—
like an amoeba under a microscope. And from it, as
though it were highly volatile, curled little streamers
of heavy smoke or vapor. To their ears came, almost
inaudibly at first, and then more and more loudly, a
slow deliberate “cluck - cluck - c-lu-uck” from the
mass, as It spread.
The two had forgotten their differences. Denning stepped
toward Halpin and clasped his shoulder fearfully. Halpin
stood like a stone statue but his breath was like that
of a winded runner. And they stood there and looked and
looked as that incredible jelly spread and steamed
across the floor.
I think it was the luminous quality of the mass that
horrified the men the most. It had a dull bluish glow; a
light of a shade that made it absolutely certain
that it was not merely a reflection from the light of
the flashlight which still threw its beam in a comet’s
tail across the floor. And too, it was certain
properties, in the mist, for that behaved not like a
normal mist, but with a sentience of its own. It floated
about the room, seeking, seeking, and yet it avoided the
presence of the two men as though it feared their touch.
And it was increasing. It was quite apparent that the
mass on the floor was evaporating, passing into the
mist, and it was evident that it would soon be gone.
“Is it — is it one of those things, Halpin?” whispered
Denning, hoarsely; but Halpin answered him not at all,
but only gripped his hand, tighter and tighter and
tighter. Then the mist began a slow twirling motion and
a deep sigh came from Halpin. It seemed that he was
assured of something by this, for he leaned over and
whispered to Denning with what seemed a certain amount
of confidence: “It’s one of them, all right. Stand back
by the door and let me handle it. I know a little
something from the books I’ve read.”
Denning backed away, more than a little fearful of
Halpin now, seeing that the young man seemed to know
something of this terrible thing, but nevertheless
grateful for the suggestion. Standing there by the
doorway, hoping vaguely that his traitorous legs would
obey him if it became necessary to flee, he watched the
dread process of materialization take place. And I think
he has never quite recovered from the effects of it; for
surely, at that moment, the entire philosophy of his
life was changed. Denning, I have noticed, goes to
church quite regularly now.
However, as I say, he stood there and watched. Watched
the smoke, or vapor, or whatever it was, whirl and
whirl, faster and faster, snatching up the vagrant wisps
and streamers that had strayed to the far corners of the
room, sucking them in, incorporating them into the
central column, until at last that column, swirling
there, seemed almost solid.
It was solid. It had ceased its whirling and stood there
quivering, jelly-like, plastic, but nevertheless, solid.
And, as though molded in the hands of an invisible
sculptor, that column was changing. Indentations
appeared here, protuberances there. The character of the
surface altered subtly; presently it was no longer
smooth and lustrous, but rough and scaly. It lost most
of its luminosity and became an uncertain, lichenous
green. Until at last it was a — thing.
That moment, Denning thinks, was the most horrible in
all the adventure. Not because of the horror of the
thing that stood before him, but because at that very
moment an automobile, driven by some belated citizen
passed by outside, the light from its headlights casting
eerie gleams across the walls and the ceiling; and the
thought of the difference between the commonplace world
in which that citizen was living, and the frightful
things taking place in this room almost overcame the
cowering man by the doorway. And, too, the light made
just that much plainer the disgusting details of the
creature that towered above them.
For tower it did. It was, apparently about nine feet
tall, for its head quite reached the ceiling of
Denning’s little room. It was roughly man-like, for it
had an erect body and four limbs, two upper and two
lower. It had a head and a sort of a face on it.
But there its similarity to man ceased. Its head had a
high ridge running from the forehead to the nape of the
neck — and it had no eyes and no nose. In the place of
these organs was a curious thing that looked not unlike
the blossom of a seanemone, and beneath that was a mouth
with an upper lip that was like a protruding fleshy
beak, making the whole mouth take on the semblance of a
sardonic letter V.
The front of its body had the flat, un-detailed
plainness of a lizard’s belly, and the legs were long,
scaly and terribly scrawny. The same might be said of
the arms, which terminated in surprisingly delicate,
surprisingly human hands.
Halpin had been watching the materialization with the
eagerness of A hawk, and no sooner was it complete, no
sooner did he notice that tautening of the creature’s
muscles that indicated conscious control, then he burst
out with a jumble of strange words. Now, it
happens that Denning was so keyed up that his mind
was tense and observant of every detail, and he clearly
remembers the exact words that Halpin uttered. They are
in some little-known tongue and I have failed to find a
translation, so I repeat them here for any student who
may care to look them up:
“La, Psuchawrl I” he cried. “‘Ng topuothiki Shelemoh,
ma’kthoqui h’thrl!”
At the cry, the horror moved. It stooped and took a
short step toward the uncowering Halpin, its facial
rosette rose just as a man lifts his eyebrows in
surprise, and then — speech came from its lips. Halpin,
strangely, answered it in English.
“I claim the forfeit,” he cried boldly. “Never has one
of your kind been released that it did not grant to
whoever released it one wish, were it in its power to
grant it.”
The thing bowed, actually bowed. In deep — inhumanly
deep — tones it gave what was manifestly an assent. It
clasped its hands over what should have been its breast
and bowed, in what even the paralyzed Denning could tell
was certainly mock humility.
“Very well, then!” the heedless Halpin went on. “I want
to know! That is my wish — to know. All my life I have
been a student, seeking, seeking — and learning nothing.
And now — I want to know the why of things, the cause,
the reason, and the end to which we travel. Tell me the
place of man in this universe, and the place of this
universe in the cosmos!”
The thing, the Jinni, or whatever it was, bowed again.
Why was it that Halpin could not see its mockery! It
clasped those amazingly human hands together, it drew
them apart, and from fingertips to fingertips leaped a
maze of sparks. In that maze of brilliant filaments a
form began to take shape, became rectangular, took on
solidity and became a little window. A silvery, latticed
window whose panes were seemingly transparent, but which
looked out upon — from where Denning stood, it seemed
nothing but blackness. The creature’s head made a
gesture and it spoke a single word — the only word which
it spoke that Denning recognized.
“Look!” it said, and obeying, Halpin stepped forward and
looked through that window.
Denning says that Halpin stared ‘while you might have
counted ten, Then he drew back a step or two, stumbled
against the couch and sat down. “Oh!” he said softly —
very softly, and then: “Oh, I see!” Denning says he
said it like a little child that had just had some
problem explained by a doting parent. And he made no
attempt to rise, no comment, nor any further word of any
kind.
And the Jinni, the Elder One, demon or angel or whatever
it was, bowed again and turned around — and was gone!
Then, suddenly, somehow or other, Denning’s trance of
fright was over, and he rushed to the light switch and
flooded the room with light. An empty jar lay upon the
floor, and upon the couch sat one who stared and stared
into vacancy with a look of unutterable despair on his
face.
Little more need be said. Denning called his wife, gave
her a brief and distorted tale which he later amplified
for the police, and spent the rest of the night trying
to rouse Halpin. When morning came, he sent for a doctor
and had Halpin removed to his own home. From there
Halpin was taken to the state asylum for the insane
where he still is. He sits constantly in meditation,
unless one tries to arouse him, and then he turns on
them a sad, pitying smile and returns to his musings.
And except for that sad, pitying smile, his only look is
one of unutterable despair.
The
End