Lovecraft, H P - The Moon-Bog

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The Moon-Bog

by H. P. Lovecraft

Written March 1921

Published June 1926 in Weird Tales, Vol. 7, No. 6, p. 805-10

Somewhere, to what remote and fearsome region I know not, Denys Barry has gone. I

was with him the last night he lived among men, and heard his screams when the thing

came to him; but all the peasants and police in County Meath could never find him, or the

others, though they searched long and far. And now I shudder when I hear the frogs

piping in swamps, or see the moon in lonely places.

I had known Denys Barry well in America, where he had grown rich, and had

congratulated him when he bought back the old castle by the bog at sleepy Kilderry. It

was from Kilderry that his father had come, and it was there that he wished to enjoy his

wealth among ancestral scenes. Men of his blood had once ruled over Kilderry and built

and dwelt in the castle, but those days were very remote, so that for generations the castle

had been empty and decaying. After he went to Ireland, Barry wrote me often, and told

me how under his care the gray castle was rising tower by tower to its ancient splendor,

how the ivy was climbing slowly over the restored walls as it had climbed so many

centuries ago, and how the peasants blessed him for bringing back the old days with his

gold from over the sea. But in time there came troubles, and the peasants ceased to bless

him, and fled away instead as from a doom. And then he sent a letter and asked me to

visit him, for he was lonely in the castle with no one to speak to save the new servants

and laborers he had brought from the North.

The bog was the cause of all these troubles, as Barry told me the night I came to the

castle. I had reached Kilderry in the summer sunset, as the gold of the sky lighted the

green of the hills and groves and the blue of the bog, where on a far islet a strange olden

ruin glistened spectrally. That sunset was very beautiful, but the peasants at Ballylough

had warned me against it and said that Kilderry had become accursed, so that I almost

shuddered to see the high turrets of the castle gilded with fire. Barry’s motor had met me

at the Ballylough station, for Kilderry is off the railway. The villagers had shunned the

car and the driver from the North, but had whispered to me with pale faces when they

saw I was going to Kilderry. And that night, after our reunion, Barry told me why.

The peasants had gone from Kilderry because Denys Barry was to drain the great bog.

For all his love of Ireland, America had not left him untouched, and he hated the beautiful

wasted space where peat might be cut and land opened up. The legends and superstitions

of Kilderry did not move him, and he laughed when the peasants first refused to help, and

then cursed him and went away to Ballylough with their few belongings as they saw his

determination. In their place he sent for laborers from the North, and when the servants

left he replaced them likewise. But it was lonely among strangers, so Barry had asked me

to come.

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