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Publication History
 
The following entries include the first publication of this work and any publications currently in print.
 
Leaves, 2 (1938): 110–12.
The Tomb and Other Tales. New York: Ballantine Books, 1970, 184–86.
Dagon and Other Macabre Tales. Ed. S.T. Joshi. Sauk City, WI: Arkham House, 1987, 362–64.
The Transition of H.P. Lovecraft: The Road to Madness. New York: Ballantine Books, 1996, 33–36.
Shadows of Death. New York, NY: Del Rey, 2005, 319–322.
H.P. Lovecraft: The Fiction. New York, NY: Barnes & Noble, 2008, 945–947.
The Other Gods and More Unearthly Tales. New York, NY: Barnes & Noble, 2010, 316–318.
Eldritch Tales: A Miscellany of the Macabre. London: Gollancz, 2011, 393–396.
H.P. Lovecraft: The Complete Fiction. New York, NY: Barnes & Noble, 2011, 945–947.
 
The Book
 
By H. P. Lovecraft
 
––=-O-=––
My memories are very confused. There is even much doubt as to where they begin; for at times I feel appalling vistas of years stretching behind me, while at other times it seems as if the present moment were an isolated point in a grey, formless infinity. I am not even certain how I am communicating this message. While I know I am speaking, I have a vague impression that some strange and perhaps terrible mediation will be needed to bear what I say to the points where I wish to be heard. My identity, too, is bewilderingly cloudy. I seem to have suffered a great shock—perhaps from some utterly monstrous outgrowth of my cycles of unique, incredible experience.
These cycles of experience, of course, all stem from that worm-riddled book. I remember when I found it—in a dimly lighted place near the black, oily river where the mists always swirl. That place was very old, and the ceiling-high shelves full of rotting volumes reached back endlessly through windowless inner rooms and alcoves. There were, besides, great formless heaps of books on the floor and in crude bins; and it was in one of these heaps that I found the thing. I never learned its title, for the early pages were missing; but it fell open toward the end and gave me a glimpse of something which sent my senses reeling.
There was a formula—a sort of list of things to say and do—which I recognised as something black and forbidden; something which I had read of before in furtive paragraphs of mixed abhorrence and fascination penned by those strange ancient delvers into the universe’s guarded secrets whose decaying texts I loved to absorb. It was a key—a guide—to certain gateways and transi ............

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