The origins of the site on which Dunwich sits are shrouded in mystery. A mystery based on profound indifference and shoddy scholarship. Legend claims that in the earliest epoch it was the Latrine of Yog Sothoth. It is believed that the current stratum of bedrock is completely composed of metamorphized coprolite. Professor Obadiah Bishop of Miskatonic University spent forty years of his academic career studying this coprolite formation and determined that it was almost entirely composed of triceratopsian dung formed from an exclusive diet of poison sumac. This is thought to explain the funk that emanates from the ground, groundwater, crops and inhabitants of the present day site. It is also believed to explain the almost constant, frenzied scratching that all Dunwichians indulge in.
The original human inhabitants of the area were members of the Pocnipnarrawampamuckutucs (sometimes shortened to the Muckutucs) tribe. The Muckutucs were despised by the other tribes because they smelled awful, had thirteen fingers and two rows of teeth.
When the first European settlers arrived, they interbred with the Muckutucs and their descendants had twelve fingers. Which was an improvement. But no teeth. Which was not. Over time these anatomical oddities became the hallmark of the Dunwichian ancestry and somewhat explained their status as loathed outcasts and pariahs. Suffice it to say that the rest of New England chose to avoid Dunwich like the plague.
But the American Revolution saw a change. The patriotic fervor that swept through the rest of New England did not neglect Dunwich. A company of stout Dunwichians headed up by “Captain” Nehemiah Hoadley marched east to reinforce the colonial army at Lexington. But when the Boston regiment got a look at the Dunwich contingent approaching from the west, they abandoned their ambush of the British and blasted away at these toothless mutants, mowing them down to the last polydactylous humanoid soul. After this Dunwich refused taxation by the US government until almost the time of the Civil War.
It was during the nineteenth century that the first truly disturbing events began to occur in and around Dunwich. In 1824 on the site of Phineas Goodgroates’ orchard, a thousand ton, three-hundred-foot-long caste-iron cylinder fell out of the sky and flattened Phineas’s apple trees and because he was apple picking that day, flattened Phineas too. This metallic meteor came to be known as the Codpiece of Cthulhu because of the inscription on its side identifying it as such. The arrival of this piece of sartorial ironmongery was taken as an event of ill-omen. Opinions varied, although with respect to Phineas all agreed it was definitely a bit of tough luck for him.
But by 1830 the populace had calmed down and normalcy reasserted itself until in the fall of that year when Caleb Sillwright’s turnip patch was similarly bombarded by the aptly named Moustache Comb of Azathoth. At this point there were calls to abandon Dunwich altogether or at least to install some kind of gargantuan clothes rack above the town in the hope that the Elder Gods would take the hint and stop dropping their effects on Dunwich. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed.
To be continued.