I came to the Fallout party very late. Though the game dropped in 2008, it was only after a severe breakup that I found myself with time and a reason to bury myself in something. Lo and behold, Fallout 3 - Game of the Year Edition appeared and there was much playing... as well as not eating or sleeping. Coincidence? Eh, could be.

With the infernal fires raging over the release of Fallout 76, I decided to go back to a game that opened me up to the idea of a world with sinners, saviors, cannibals, vampires, mutants, ghouls and hope. I’m going to highlight some of the places that, in a game filled with stories and interwoven characters, still had even deeper histories touching on the dark, the screaming and the supernatural.

Thus, Nostalgiaview, in association with the Capital Wastelands Tourism Office, brings you a tale of why you should avoid The Dunwich Building. No really. Sit down, unpack your gear and leave this one well alone. Where are you going? What part of ghoul-infested, hallucination hub don’t you get? Fine then! Go! But dibs on your stuff!



The Dunwich Building lies far off in the south western most corner of the map. The first time I went there, I wandered into it, like most vict- I mean explorers did. It didn’t look like anything special: a beaten, brown and dusty building like so many other ruins of the Capital Wastes. The parking lot still had a few vehicle carcasses strewn about. The odd thing was that it had no road, as if the building itself was trying to halt the possibility of a weary traveller finding it. But why? I mean sure, there are scorpions the size of cars acting as door-greeters, but this is Fallout 3, I told myself. What harm could this place do? Note: They should tattoo that into the side of every child born in this game. Maybe that way, others will read it and learn to leave these buildings alone. Still, nothing ventured, nothing chewed off. I opened the front door and stepped inside.

What a wonderful door alarm. It’s so much better than the standard ding-dong of a pre-war general store. Nope, I find a ghoul snarl is way better at alerting everyone that a new customer/meal has arrived and needs service.

I hate feral ghouls, but not in a mean-spirited way. Just in a I-wish-I-had-a-stronger-gun way. The damn things have two settings: sprint and eat, with the optional third of dance on your dinner’s head. They’re fast, some of them glow in the dark, are radioactive and always hungry. The feral ghouls are what you get when the loudest voices in the "Nuke China" debate ripen to full Trump. And this building is loaded with them.

After dispatching the beasties, I found a series of audio logs by someone named Jamie. He found his way here in search of his father. That is a devoted son... made of stupid, but a devoted son. Then again, so is the main character in Fallout 3, having deserted the relative safety of Vault 101 to wander the earth looking for dad like the world’s most tenacious lap dog. That vault is looking pretty awesome right now.



Jaime, it seems, fell in with bandits then turned on them, saving some settlers and so learned his father was here. He then worked his way through the mess of the building into somewhere called the Virulent Underchambers. Sorry dad, but I no longer have clean underwear so I think, till I find some, I’m just gonna tiptoe the hell out. But wait, there’s more! Jaime found the book dad was carrying; the book the Brotherhood of Steel rejected. The same book that’s now lying next to dad’s irradiated butt. Oh look, a warm stone, my flesh is tingling (I think I’ll sleep here a while, says Jamie). Jamie then becomes a ghoul, or a smoker, judging by how his voice changes. Then he starts chanting about someone named Alhazred... Ooooooh crap.

“H.P. Lovecraft,” my 2009 self said. Abdul Alhazred was the author of the Necromicon - The Book of the Dead, said to hold knowledge of the great old ones… The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be!

So yes, you could say I know the book. And if this building is anything like its namesake, The Dunwich Horror, I just walked into a meatgrinder.

I march further into the building. Along the way I encountered more feral ghouls of the glowing, roaming and reaver varieties, all of whom had to be reminded about my “no touchy” rule. Then I heard it. Footsteps... Above me? Scope says there’s nothing here. Let me see if I can find the source and- why did that door just open by itself?



Several dead feral ghouls later, I wander into an office. Computer logs have left a transcript of the company’s business... drilling equipment. Then something else... The voice-to-text system was open when the nukes fell. I turn to leave and- oh crap, a ghost!

“Hi!” I heard myself blurt out to the consternation of my 2009 sleeping housemates. The spirit of a dead employee is wandering around the ruins, plain as day, glowing in the gloom and going about his daily business. I stand in the dark, marvelling at this echo of the past. I marvel a little too much as the ghost becomes a glowing ghoul. Oh, well played Bethesda.

By this time, the wonderment has worn off. Jamie, I know you’re here and you and I are going to have a little talk about your friends and their eating habits. Down into the basement we go, ignoring the severed head that changes position every time I leave the room.

Down below, in the Virulent Ruins, it doesn’t take me long to follow the chanting. “Alhazred. Alhazred. Alhazred.” With a shout of “My name is Jeff!” I charge in and rapidly charge out because Jamie has several feral friends and a gun. After several dozen shots and a few cries of anguish, the feral fools lie festering at my feet. I search the room triumphantly and briefly. Oh look, an art installation. A stone obelisk composed of five skulls on the back and a naked woman reaching skywards on the front dominates the room, and may just be the cause of all this ghoulish fun. It bears investigation... by someone else.



I decide to leave Jamie’s book, the Krivbeknih, here. I never carry anything if the title makes me say ‘Bless you’. Also, the stone obelisk is giving off 20-rads-a-pop and I like my flesh to stay attached. I wind my way back through the ruins, vowing never to return. Screw that! Next stop, Point Lookout! I’ll take rednecks over ferals any day. And yet, I feel like I’m being watched. I slowly turn to see my housemate Grant wanting to know what the screaming was about and if I still wanted to live here. I saved and quit.

So ends our tour of The Dunwich Building. Should you wish to visit, Neither Nostalgiaview nor the Capital Wastelands Tourism Office will be held liable for lost parents, limbs or minds.