If rats are again infesting the manor, de la Poer wants them exterminated immediately. This cacophony repeats nightly and has him understandably unnerved, especially since it seems only he and the cats can hear it.Īnd rats at Exham Priory are not without precedent: Legend has it that a "scampering army of obscene vermin had burst forth from the castle three months after the tragedy that doomed it to desertion" the rats had swept throughout the countryside devouring everything in their path, including livestock and a couple of humans.
Shortly after moving in, de la Poer is wakened at night by what sounds like a massive horde of rats scratching and scurrying within the ancient walls, descending from the eaves down toward the cellar. So yeah, going back there and digging up the past: sounds like a great idea! How could this possibly end badly? The place had not been inhabited since the reign of James the First, when a tragedy of intensely hideous, though largely unexplained, nature had struck down the master, five of his children, and several servants and driven forth under a cloud of suspicion and terror the third son, my lineal progenitor and the only survivor of the abhorred line. Here, we have the last scion of the de la Poer family, a once-prominent English clan, who decides to restore the ancestral home, Exham Priory. "We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."īut every Lovecraft story worth its salt features some dumbass protagonist who does not heed this warning. So don't go poking around swampy cyclopean structures, or digging up hex-marked graves, or hanging out with pagan cannibal cults. Or more specifically its corollary, Cognizance is torment. The moral of "The Rats in the Walls", like so many Lovecraft stories, is Ignorance is bliss. My rendition of ' The rats in the wall ' by HP.The grandson wants to remember what the father wished to forget. It must have been the rats the viscous, gelatinous, ravenous army that feast on the dead and the living…” – The Rats In The Walls – H.P Lovecraft 1923
Something bumped into me – something soft and plump. I heard voices, and yowls, and echoes, but above all there gently rose that impious, insidious scurrying, gently rising, rising as a stiff bloated corpse gently rises above an oily river that flowsunder endless onyx bridges to a black putrid sea. “My searchlight expired, but still I ran. These rats seem to me to be more like civilised Skaven than the devolved, cannibalistic inbred humans as described in the original story. For being such a popular story, there is a depressing lack of art out there for it.
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