May 5, 1923

My Dearest Friend,

I trust this letter finds you well. I am writing to you under the gravest of circumstances, circumstances that I fear might threaten my very sanity.

You recall my recent trip to the New England town of Arkham, yes? I was there to study the curious genealogy of the Marsh family, rumored to be connected to the peculiar folklore of the area. My research led me to the Miskatonic University where I chanced upon a quaint, nearly forgotten tome that held my attention.

The book was an oddity. Leather-bound, its pages seemed ancient, filled with cryptic symbols and languages not known to man. It was titled "The Pnakotic Manuscripts". The librarian, an elderly gentleman who seemed to possess an eerie knowledge about the book, warned me of its supposed curse. I dismissed his warning as a mere superstition. Oh, how I wish I heeded his words.

Upon reading the manuscript, I began experiencing uncanny dreams - dreams of an ancient city beneath the sea, inhabited by grotesque creatures that defy human comprehension. There is one entity, though, that stands out among the rest. A monstrous being that sleeps, but is not dead. It's not alive either, at least not in the conventional sense. They refer to it as "Cthulhu".

Every night, I feel it calling me. Its influence grows stronger with each passing day. I fear that it won't be long before it consumes me entirely. These are not the ramblings of a lunatic, my friend. I am as sober and sound of mind as I've ever been. I am certain that something wicked lurks beneath the waters, something that has taken a keen interest in me.

I am returning to Arkham with the intention of finding a way to rid myself of this curse. I could use your expertise in these matters. I am enclosing a train ticket to Arkham, leaving from Boston on the 20th. It is my fervent hope that you can assist me in this perilous endeavor.

Yours desperately,

Dr. Cornelius Harding