In 1926, a group of professors from Miskatonic University snuck into the isolated hermit town of Innsmouth, Massachusetts with the intention of publishing a compilation of the town's strange fishing chanteys. The professors filmed the singing of various tunes across the eccentric fishing town, weaving and bobbing by crudely built shacks and dilapidated buildings, avoiding the gazes of the town's strange and uncanny folk. Until the selection of songs was complete, nobody had ever accumulated such a unique and curious collection of music, the finished album in question containing a recording of a carol sung by the mysterious Esoteric Order of Dagon.
A week after the release of the publication, five of the professors died under dubious circumstances. John Henryson was severed in two by an axe falling off his wall. The police discovered the Boston harbor had frozen Dr. Oswald Glee to death, deeming it a suicide. William Hendricks was a mangled and crimson hunk of lacerated meat, the authorities blaming the attack on bear from the nearby woods breaking into his home. In an absurd and flagrant show of incompetence and inaccuracy, the police determined the knife repeatedly rammed in Dr. Armitage Stone's back was a suicide weapon. Edward Parry was water-logged corpse in the middle of the Atlantic, but no one questioned how he may have ended up halfway to Europe. And for a reason the informed find blatant, the press never gave any of these deaths media coverage. The rest of the professors individually disappeared over the next five years, one by one dropping off the face of the earth to never be seen or heard from again.
Years after that series of incidents, when the Arkham Men's Ensemble planned to record a re-done album of the strange songs, the college archivist from Miskatonic University, who had experience with Innsmouth and the cult residing there, told the chorus they couldn't include the Esoteric Order of Dagon hymn, saying it would be "too unsafe to risk with." The song was left off the monograph, the university confining it to obscurity and exiling it from memory.
After decades and decades of the hymn's abandonment, I've recovered and colorized the recording for public viewing. As I soon learned, however, it's not for people to toy with. When the Miskatonic archivist said it was a dangerous song, he meant it. I know so, for even though it's the middle of the dry season, the moment I touched the tape, the sky darkened and rain began pattering against my window. A thunderstorm is coming, and I suspect I may not be able to respond if they arrive soon. The only image I see in my mind is a lonely lighthouse in a dark storm on the edge of the cliff, with crashing waves, rain, and the stench of salt as my sole companions, and the only thing I can say is to watch the tape at your own risk.
Written by Lord Colbito