Many of the men whom he saved that night the Titanic sank kept in touch until his death.
Howard had an eventful life. After an unsuccessful marriage and divorce, Howard moved to Providence to live with his aunts, and after all the years of replaying the disaster at sea and what he had learned, he began to understand what he was meant to do.
Using his images of the past, he wrote short stories, novellas, and letters that totaled in the tens of thousands. He revealed everything he learned from Droom: forbidden knowledge is dangerous, and humans are often products of fate and cannot alter their journeys. He explained alien races and discouraged learning about places and times beyond earth itself, warning that at any time, chaos could rule the world.
The literary circuit loved his writings and wondered where such vivid and horrific imaginings came from; he said they were not only stories, but also cautionary tales.
As his stomach worsened and the cancer spread, he felt death was close, and he called for John and Jenny Morton to come to his bedside on March 15, 1937.
They found Howard was pale as cream, in acute agony, painfully thin, and malnourished as he could take no food. The morphine helped some, but in waves, he cried out and writhed. When the next bout of pain eased, he was able to smile a little.
“Howard, will you eat anything?” Jenny asked.
“I think not. Thank you,” he said. After a while, he agreed to take some tea and drank it slowly, enjoying the weak brew taken with a little milk.
“We’ll sit here with you, Howard, as long as you wish,” John Morton said.
“I do not feel you will have to sit here long. Do you know why I asked you to come?”
“Because we are friends,” Jenny responded.
“You see, in this universe, there is no care for our welfare. There is no concern out there for our doings and lives. I wanted two people with me, as I pass on, who genuinely care about me. Strangely, I feel at peace with you both here.”
Jenny clasped his hand.
“You do not remember what I learned that night, but I will say this, Droom was not his real name. I had so many hints but did not understand. His true name was… Chaos.”
“Howard, you know we care about you,” Jenny said.
“And I care for you, my two best friends. When they say I was mad, tell them I was not. Please.”
“Of course.”
“You see we are incapable of understanding life. We have no comprehension. In that, we are weak. We are but a tick of a clock. A fleeting memory. We are but a dream. We are a second in an eon.” Howard’s voice grew quieter. Jenny thought to ask is he needed more pain medication, but his grip was lessening.
“Howard?” John said.
“And like a light, we wink out. Thank you,” he whispered, “because you care, I have been. I was. I cheated Chaos.”
“Howard?” Jenny whispered back, but that was the last he said as he passed on. “What did that mean, John?”
“Maybe that love and friendship made him real. I do not know. It was some sort of… validation. He felt he won, anyway.” John tidied the covers and smoothed the blanket until it looked as if their friend were sleeping.
Leaving the hospital room, the Mortons closed the door and told the nurse to let the doctor know. They asked her to take care of things. John and Jenny, holding hands, left and walked out to sit in the little park across from the hospital. It was chilly, and Jenny shivered, remembering one other time she had been as cold.
On another bench, a young man sat scribbling on a pad of paper, licking the end of his pencil, looking to the clouds, and then writing again. He thinned his lips with frustration and marked out a line, sighing.
“I can always tell when a man is a journalist,” John said to him, “I watched Stead and Howard do that. Never mind, friends of mine.”
The man laughed and introduced himself, “Is it that evident, yes? I want a very interesting story and have nothing.”
“Just interesting?”
The man shrugged, “No, I want to have people think.”
“What if I told you about the night the Titanic sank and how cold we were and how afterwards, our dear friend wrote the most extraordinary stories, papers, and novels about terrible alien creatures and a cruel universe?”
“Oh? How fascinating,” the man said, leaning forward, “a writer, you say?”
“A very talented one. And I’ll say this, he was not mad.”
The man waited.
John leaned back against the bench and sighed, “Let me tell you about Howard Phillips Lovecraft.”
Afterwards:
People often ask how an idea came about. I want to share that after I remark upon a few items that are sticking in my mind.
Most of the events pertaining to the sinking of Titanic are accurate to the best of my knowledge after exhaustive research. Actual names of many were used, but the personalities are fictional although many of the actions have been documented. At no time was any real person’s name used as a victim to the fictional mythos. I felt it was vital to retain complete respect to all of those who were lost or who survived. I love the story of the ship because it embodies the human spirit and sacrifice.
I spent hours and hours doing research and attended the Titanic Exhibit in Fort Worth, Texas. I was most amazed that so many relics were found in almost perfect condition (after sinking 12,000 feet). For some reason, the porthole on exhibit really got to me and made it very real. If I could have one item, it would be that porthole with its jagged brass casing. Perfume samples still have the scent intact and some of the clothing is almost pristine. I saw Mr. Murdoch’s pipe.
I went into this, unsure who or what was to blame and prepared myself that some people might be less than heroic. Instead, I found the men (especially of First Class) to have been honorable and heroic. I believe Officers Murdoch, Lightoller, and others acted more professionally and intelligently than imaginable. Sadly, they were not trained to fill lifeboats. Mr. Lightoller became a true hero as I researched his actions and I feel a strong connection to his memory.
I have dedicated this book to Mr. Lightoller’s memory.
Mr. William Stead and Mr. John Astor did write the books that I wrote about. Mr. Astor’s book described incredible ideas including using solar energy and I found it very imaginative. It reminded me of the wonderful “Twilight Zone” episodes about alien worlds and space travel.
Maggie Brown has been often referred to as “the unsinkable Molly Brown” but her name was Margaret, and she was not called Molly. I tried to stay true to the facts with her. She was not only a philanthropist but involved in laws for human rights and ran for a political office before women were afforded the right to vote. She is someone I would have liked very much.
How 1200 bodies vanished has never been explained fully. It is possible the life belts failed, causing the dead to sink, but this doesn’t explain this mystery sufficiently.
It is true that William Stead and others penned books before the disaster that were almost a perfect prediction. Many did leave the ship due to unease, claim nightmares, or psychic dreams of the impending event. The mysteries truly are remarkable.
The Captain of Carpathia was a staunch believer in sea monsters and had filed many reports of sightings. I like this.
Megaladons have been extinct for about two million years but was the largest water predator to have lived; they probably preferred warm water. I scuba dive and have never felt threatened by a shark; however, once, while swimming in Galveston, Texas, I was circled by a hammerhead and “peeing in one’s pants” does happen.