I write this under order of my doctor. His prescription for my misfortune in bringing about what he has described as a considerable "skewing of the nerves" is to detail the events leading to this point in the hope that some remedy may present itself...if only he knew of the tragedy I labour beneath. Regardless, I should no doubt introduce myself to demonstrate the utmost spirit of good will to my kindly, if somewhat ill-understanding, physician.
I was a typical Englishman of good breeding; my family was fairly respected (my father holding some shares in far-off India), and I had attended respectable schools within the British Isles and, during a year-long exchange program, across the Atlantic at Miskatonic in Arkham, MA.
Of course, despite my respectable background, curiosity is indeed a natural thing, and like most other students I was able to gain a glimpse at some of their more eldrytch grimoires and manuscripts whose dark teachings are retained in even the most upright of fellows. Indeed, it is my half-remembered perusal of some of these texts that has allowed me to shed some light on the veil I most assuredly unwittingly pierced.
The year was 1923, and I had just turned 22. As is common among youths of my background, I had decided to seek out adventure, and to that end raised such funds as sufficient to allow me safe passage to the Continent. By June of that year, I had entered Calais, and soon had engaged myself in the shenanigans and fooleries that the aged are often denied.
Within a month, my thirst for greater sights forced me to journey beyond the charms and pleasantries that France and her sisters afford, and I decided to enter the harsher countries of Germany and her lesser Slavic states.