Every time I read The Dunwich Horror I find myself feeling sorry for Wilbur Whately. He’s the bastard son of a feeble minded albino. His family is hated and feared by their neighbors. He’s oversized, overintelligent and not a pretty sight with his clothes on. With his clothes off he’s down right hideous. He’s fifteen and he knows that the human race isn’t going to accept him. Is it any wonder he wants to call his “father” out of the spaces between into this world? And, sadly, I don’t think he would have gotten on much better with the Great Old Ones than he did with fickle humanity. There was just no home for poor Wilbur anywhere.