Bernhard Höfellner

The Clerk

A Lovecraftian short story

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The Clerk

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The Clerk

Randolph Phineas van der Burgen woke up, stretching his tired limbs. He rose from his bed, feeling the stiffness in his joints. At once the cold of his small rental room enfolded him. His gaze was directed at the window, outside of which he saw a dance of snowflakes. Even more snow. Randolph hated wintertime but what he hated most about it was the snow. He sighed and went over to a small cabinet by the opposite wall, on which stood a wash bowl. He tried to dip his hands into it but touched a thin coating of ice instead. With a fast blow of his fist he crushed it, dousing his hands in the cold water, splashing it into his face and then drying himself. From the mirror, a scraggy, beardless head gazed at him, whose few grey hair stuck out stubbily in all directions. With the aid of a brush and a small amount of hair grease he corrected that aesthetic mistake of his sleeping habits and labouriously put on his clothes. When he was finished, he brushed the dusted from his frock coat, put it on, reached for his leather bag and left the room.

The enchanting smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated from downstairs. Mrs Calbraith greeted him in the dining room of her small boarding house.

"You are looking quite dapper this morning, Mr van der Burgen. As usual."

"Thank you, Mrs Calbraith."

"Did you like the hair grease I sent up to your room yesterday?"

"It serves its purpose, thank you."

"You look just like Rudolph Valentino!"

Randolph had taken a seat while Mrs Calbraith served coffee and some pastries, without being asked. She also put jam and clotted cream onto the table.

"I am not familiar with any gentleman of that name. Is it a new tenant? A quiet fellow, I hope?"

Mrs Cailbraith shook her head.

"Valentino is the most beautiful man in the world. He is a movie star! Everyone knows Rudoph Valentino!"

RandolphÂ´s eye-lid fluttered. Movie star. He did not enjoy movies very much.

"I don not enjoy movies very much."

"How can you not enjoy movies?"

"I think that this kind of dispersion will no stand the test of time. In a few years this whole moving picture nonsence will come to an end, and we will finally be able to spend a comfortable evening again, listening to the radio or reading a good book."

He took a sip of hot coffee and a bite from a piece of pastry. Both tasted excellent.

"It both tastes satisfactorily, Mrs Cailbraith."

The recipient nodded and went back to her kitchen in disappointment. Randolph reached for the newspaper, lying on the table next to him. He drank his coffee and skipped through the pages halfheartedly.

"Movies! Pah!" he said to no one in particular and smirked. And anyway, what kind of a name was Valentino. Probably Italian.

Randolp did not like Italians. He also did not like Spaniards, Swedes and Finnes, even though he considered the French to be the worst riff-raff of them all. He bristled with anger. Now he had become agitated. He did not like being agited. Still, he drank the hot coffee, scalding his lips, tongue and palate and then threw the newspaperback back onto the table, full of indignation and heavily agitated.

Mr Gregory Valjuschin and Dr Conroy, the other two boarding house guests present, glanced at him. Valjuschin said to Dr Conroy:

"He seems agitated?"

Conroy replied, without looking up from his book "Das Kapital": "Troubled. The correct word is troubled."

"Ah!" said Gregory Valjuschin and waved at Randolph with a smile.

"Troubled!" the Russian called out.

Randolph nodded and decided to replace the French on his list with Russians. From now on he would regard Russians as the worst riff-raff of them all.

One look at his watch urged him to hurry if he wanted to reach the university in time. In a hurry he left the boarding house, located in an alley off Main Street and entered the morning hustle and bustle of Arkham, Massachusetts. Only a few hundred yards which he covered in a fast pace separated him from venerable Miskatonic University. He walked through the large wrought iron gates and along the gravel path to the main building of campus, built from red brick. There he greeted the porter with a friendly nod.

"Good morning, Mr van der Burgen!"

Inside the foyer he took a left turn to reach the library and walked past the office of the chief librarian Dr. Henry Armitage. The door stood open and Randolph accelerated his steps, but was slowed down by the piercing voice of the doctor.

"Mr van der Burgen? Come in, please!"

Randolph stopped, turned around and entered the spacious office of the librarian who was sitting in a brown leather chair behind his massive desk. Professor Ferdinand Ashley, expert on ancient history, was sitting in another chair, jovially greeting the entering. Randolph noticed that both men had been busy consuming alcohol in the early morning which he condemned strongly, but quietly. He also noticed that he had not been offered a seat. It seemed like it was going to be a short conversation. Or a humiliating one.

"Randolph", said Armitage.

Randolph! So it was going to be a humiliating one.

"Randolph, Professor Ashley and I were just talking about you and your departmental colleagues."

That could only mean bad news.

"We are worried."

Worried? About what? Was there something that had happened in the cellar? Randolph went through the events of the last few weeks in his head. As far as he knew there had not been any shortages of staff. Everything had been written down, logged and measured scrupulously. In a matter of three eight-hour-shifts.

Ashley took over from Armitage.