From: Jandlerhand Macinfanny

Reverend Stang,

What you are about to read worked its way into my hands through a very complex system of information. I got the original letter several days ago from an unknown street person that lives outside my apartment building. The actual letter itself was yellowed and abused with mishandling, and the bottom section of the message was ripped clear away. From the content, I am guessing that it is from a distant friend of mine, a Professor A O'Toole of Miskatonic University. along with the letter was instruction to email it straight to you post haste, so here it is:

Reverend Ivan Stang,

What I have to say is very important. It could just save your life. it may sound fantastic, even insane, at first, but I assure you: what has recently happened to me and my poor, departed colleagues is real and of utmost importance to you, the future of the Church, and most importantly, our saviour, Mr J.R. "Bob" Dobbs.

I am employed in the Abnormal Psychology Department of Miskatonic University. Incidentaly, in order to remain anonymous, I have arranged for this message to be sent by through the email account of our friend Jeffrey Lunger. He has nothing directly to do with these horrible goings-on. As I was saying, my colleagues and I were approached one day through strange channels by a man identifying himself only as "Mr. Bittle of Yorkshire". A strange man on first contact, "Mr. Bittle" was a tall, pale individual who spoke little and seemed to be constantly bathed in dark shadows. Several of us did see his face, but on later recollection not one could give any details of features, hair color, or even skin color.

"Mr. Bittle" met in private with Dr. Rembolt, the head of our department. On emergance from his office, "Mr Bittle" rushed away quickly while the Dr staggered out slowly as if dazed by a sharp blow to the head. When we questioned him on what transpired between him and the mysterious stranger (who was already fading from memory). The Dr spoke haltingly at first about "starnge writings" produced by our "Mr. Bittle" and could relate only the fact that we were to meet several friends of his in two weeks time in Rome, Italy. The Dr then fell ill, and, as of this writing, is still sick in bed and apparently wasting away from some unknown, baffling disease.
The rest of us scraped together what money we had and immediately bought aeroplane tickets to Rome. We couldn't quite understand why we were doing this, but it seemed of the utmost importance that we be in Italy at the specified time. There were four of us, including myself, out of the eight in my department who went, all chosen for our particular skills. I myself am an expert in mass psychosis. Again, we weren't sure why our talents would come in handy. It just seemed right.

On arrival, we were met at the airport by a small, bent man named Paco who said he would be acting as guide and valet during our stay. He checked us into a small hotel and told us that he would be back in the morning. After an uneasy nights rest that was wrought with disturbing images of impossibly large landscapes and droning chants (all four of us reported similar nightmares), Paco returned and escorted us on a long and winding tour around Rome which ultimately ended up in an ancient back alley. By that time, night had fallen and it was quite dark. Paco instructed us to wait, for his masters would be along presently, and disappeared into the shadows. No sooner than his form had vanished, two tall men approached and, with deep and almost growling voices, beckoned us to follow. we obliged and they led several streets away were we entered a dark doorway into the side of a brick building. What we witnessed inside can hardly be described. Dozens of nude figures danced wildly to the random sounds of a pipe player. A large bonfire burned intensely in the middle of the room while robed figures stood at the cardinal points of the compass and chanted with intense fervor:

"Ia! Ia! 'Ghryth Dobbs fhtagn! Ia!"

Staggered at the intense primal energies of this scene, my partners and I could scarcely watch as the impossible happened. As the chanting rose, so did the pitch and tempo of the piping. The danceres whirled and pitched in boundless pleasure. Suddenly, above the fire, an even brighter light cracked the very air and shone forth, driving our pained eyes to the ground. Looking from my periphery, I could just see the smiling visage of our divine prophet and saviour, J.R. "Bob" Dobbs himself (praise his very name). However, instead of relief at his holy image, I felt a deep revulsion. Something about him seemed wrong, horribly and utterly incorrect. I turned to yell out... something, anything to get his attention, but when my gaze fell on this "abomination", I was struck with an intense terror and lost consciousness.

The next morning I woke to find myself on a plane bound for America. When I asked how I arrived to be where i was, the attendants could tell me only that I walked onto the plane under my own power if not somewhat dazed.
What has happened to my colleagues is unclear. The flight manifest inexplicably show only myself on that plane to Italy. What is important, however, is what I saw in Rome. Reverend Stang, I do not know exactly what I saw that dreadful night, but I have a very profound feeling that what was being attempted there was the summoning and unleashing of the prophisized "Anti-Bob". This must not happen! Not yet, at any rate. Reverend Stang, I do not know if this letter will reach you, but action must be taken immediately. I have come to understand through my work in abnormal psychology that "Time" as we know it is a fragile thing. If X Day is to come off without a hitch, the emmergance of the "Anti-Bob" must be delayed until the proper time. Already forces are mobilizing to stop this information from spreading. I do not know why these "strangers" allowed me to see the horrible scene that I did witness, but their gift can not be taken for granted. Please take this warning to heart. If those who conspire to...

The rest of the letter, as I said, was destroyed. Ripped away. Either way, I gather that those who Prof O'Toole feared finally caught up with him. I have no idea where he is now, and I'm afraid to find out! Please fulfill what probably became this man's last wishes. Take this letter into consideration for your, mine, and Dobb's sake.

Yours in Dobb's service,
Jandlerhand Macinfanny

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