The Curse of the Wendigo

EPILOGUE

November 2009

None of the famous personages mentioned in the journals (Thomas Edison, Algernon Blackwood, Bram Stoker, Henry Irving, John Pemberton, Alexandre-Gustave Eiffel, Thomas Byrnes, and Jacob Riis) ever wrote or spoke publicly of anyone named Pellinore Warthrop or anything remotely resembling the science of monstrumology. This fact, of course, doesn’t prove that these real people from the era did not know Warthrop; however, if they did, it is very odd that they never mentioned him or his esoteric “philosophy.” For example, nowhere have I found any indication that Stoker based his Van Helsing character upon a “real” doctor named von Helrung.

It was Blackwood’s story, published in 1910, that put the Wendigo on the map and established Blackwood as a popular writer of the horror genre. I have found no evidence that the story was inspired or in any way derived from Will Henry’s account in the fourth folio, but that interpretation is clearly intended, based on the meeting at the Zeno Club, which I could find no record of having existed either.

A careful search of newspaper archives yielded nothing from the time period beyond the articles reproduced at the beginning of this book. I was unable to find any mention, under Blackwood’s byline or anyone else’s, of the murders described in the sixth folio. No mention of the name Chanler and no stories about an American Ripper running amok on the streets of New York. This part of Will Henry’s story—the scene where he mentions the newspaper clippings in the von Helrung library—is undeniably fictional. A scandal involving a prominent New York family certainly would have been covered by the newspapers of the day. And if that isn’t true, the entire record must be called into question . . . but did I ever really have any doubt the journals were a work of fiction?

Frustrated in my efforts to corroborate their contents, I turned to the journals themselves. I contacted an expert in handwriting analysis based in Gainesville at the University of Florida, who was kind enough to take a look at the material. His report contained the following observations:

Author has received formal schooling, at least through secondary schools, perhaps some college . . .

Author is extremely meticulous, with anal-retentive tendencies. Would probably be extremely neat in appearance, fastidious to a fault, particular about the way he looks and is perceived by others . . .

Author may be suffering from certain personality disorders, but it is highly doubtful, given the coherence of the text, that he is afflicted with schizophrenia or any other serious mental disease. Unlikely he was delusional.

Author loves habit, routine, predictability. Would be extremely uncomfortable in alien surroundings. Shy, introverted, a “feeler and thinker,” not a “doer.”

The report went on to speculate that Will Henry suffered from arthritis, may have been bipolar, and may have been alone or without companionship for long periods of time. The part about his being meticulous in his appearance I found particularly poignant, given his condition when he was discovered in the drainage ditch, covered in filth, dressed in ratty clothes, with a matted beard and long, knotted hair. What had happened to bring a man like him to that point? The other striking thing about the report, to my mind, was the assertion that it was “unlikely he was delusional.”

Wendigos. Mongolian Death Worms. An organism that secretes some kind of enzyme that gives its host unnaturally long life. And it is unlikely this person was delusional? Handwriting analysis is as much art as it is science; still, at first I found that statement confounding, to put it mildly.

On further reflection, though, it makes sense under the theory that Will Henry (or whoever he was) was a writer of fiction. One can write fiction—it is possible, I hear—and not be delusional. Fiction itself could be characterized as highly organized delusional thinking. Simply because the author wrote about the life of someone named Will Henry doesn’t make the story his life.

My hope is that the publication of these journals, as with the first three, may generate a lead. As the director of the nursing home told me in the beginning, everyone has someone. Someone out there knows who this person was. Perhaps not under the name William James Henry, but someone knows him. One day I hope to open up an e-mail or get a phone call from that person, and at last I’ll have some answers. After I finished reading this latest set of diaries, it occurred to me that Will Henry had found himself at the end of his life’s journey in that desolation he—and his enigmatic master—had found so terrifying. Perhaps my quest, if one could call it that, is more about bringing him out than finding him out. Perhaps by discovering who he was and to whom he belongs, I can bring Will Henry home.