intro, chap 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
@bjfinn @hesawifebeaterdanusethegun
Sunday February 14th, 1993
Okay, you're definitely a badass – and one of these days it's gonna get you killed.
It kinda figures that the people you saw were naked – a lot of cults and neo-pagan religions (not the same thing, by the way!) see nudity as a more spiritual state. The hippies back in the late '60s and early '70s, for example (those were the days – rocking out to Joplin, Hendrix, the Dead, Jefferson Airplane ... but I digress.)
Have you heard about the Harper's Mill witch trials? In 1627 two women and a clergyman were hanged for "consorting with demons" – and witnesses claimed that they and several others were seen to be "frolicking nakod in the fielde with a foule being who did resemble a manne but with the head, hornes and hooves of a goat" – your standard description of Baphomet.
So these people might be Satanists – basically just bored suburbanites ha ha. The worst thing they probably did was have an orgy afterwards.
Still, if you see them again, keep your distance.
Now, as far as what you saw on your last visit to the stone...
Could you see who'd been ... sacrificed? Was it someone you know? I sincerely hope not – and I hope it was just an illusion, like it was for me. And yeah, I can see the blood in the inscription, but that doesn't mean it's really real – just that the dream weaver can ... warp reality. Thank you for getting that photo, by the way. (You took it with your phone? How the fuck can you take a picture with a phone?)
The inscription looks mostly like Egyptian hieratic, mixed with proto-Semitic (Canaanite? Eblaite?), Linear B(?), Sumerian cuneiform ... possibly with some proto-Sanskritic. It looks like there's a couple of Harappan (Indus Valley) characters, as well, and maybe some Shang Dynasty ideograms? I wish I could read even just a few characters, but I'm not an expert – just a guy with a bit of a special interest in history and archeology.
That weird writing in the journal ... the first thing I thought of was H. P. Lovecraft's "The Call of Cthulhu" – there's a phrase chanted by the cultists: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." Don't ask me how it's pronounced, but it means "In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming." (It also kinda reminded me of the inscription on the ring in "The Lord of the Rings" – "One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them, one Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them" – which, in the original Black Speech, is "Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul." But I digress yet again – sorry for nerding out.)
And I'm pretty sure the stanza below it is the translation – it tracks poetically. The word VØ₭Ⱨ’Ɽ₳ is repeated, just like the word "rise". (By the way, writing that word felt wrong – almost like it was a word my mind wasn't made for, if that makes any sense.) And it's possible that you did write the translation – or something used you to write it while you were asleep. It's called automatic writing, and it's usually used in therapy to get in touch with your subconscious ... but in Spiritualism (which was very popular in 19th century New England), it was a method of channeling spirits – like a ouija board.
I think whoever (whatever?) wrote the first part wanted us to understand it, but maybe it doesn't speak English, so it waited for you to doze off so it could use your knowledge of English to translate it. Maybe it was the dude in the black cloak.
I realize you're completely freaked out by this, but if you take the time to read it objectively, it doesn't sound like a threat so much as a warning. I think it's meant to help us. I just wish it was
St. James Presbyterian just blew up!
No ... no, it didn't blow up so much as ... how do I describe it? It got sorta ... origami'd out of existence. Like something just wadded it up into a ball and made it disappear. And there was a service going on, with at least 50 people inside. Oh, God. People I know were inside.
I need to go and see if there's anything I can do to help. If there's anyone left to help.
I'm back – been gone all afternoon. A dozen or so people managed to get out – some minor injuries, thankfully nothing life-threatening, although a couple of them had to be taken to the hospital in New Haven – including Shelley Cooper. Poor woman was passing by the church when it happened and ... well, she had to be sedated. Can't say I blame her – imagine walking along, minding your own business ... and all of a sudden the building you're right in front of just crumples and disappears! Anyone would be a basket case after that.
Anyway, now there's a giant pit where the church used to be, and a few pieces of broken timber and glass, but that's all.
Apart from what looks like a pair of ... giant footprints. Like dinosaur footprints, but with way more than three toes. One on either side of where the church used to be.
Anyway, I spent the afternoon helping to clean up, and then I checked in on my friend Nick to see if he needed anything – he's got MS and is confined to a wheelchair, so I stop by every couple days. He was pretty shaken up by the news of what happened, of course – we all are. It's not every day that a giant invisible monster destroys a major building and kills a bunch of people.
Apparently, it's only every thirty years or so.
I need a drink. And a smoke. Maybe some weed.
All right, nerves are steadied again. Sort of. Now, back to business.
I think our friend in black is responsible for the warning, somehow. Maybe he's even the one who wrote that first entry in this journal.
So why write it in that weird language? Maybe the language is important – there's plenty of belief systems that teach that a prayer, spell, incantation, whatever needs to be recited in a particular language. Latin for Catholics (used to be, anyway), Hebrew for Jews, Classical Arabic for Muslims.
We might need to learn how to pronounce it properly, though – at first I thought maybe all those weird marks on the letters are diacritics, guides to pronunciation? Like the ñ in señor, or the ç in garçon. But looking closer, that doesn't seem to be the case – each letter has the same markings each time it appears. Hopefully we'll get more clues.
The whole "gate of ivory" thing got me thinking – if that's what it is, then where's the gate of horn? If I were a dream weaver, where would I put it?
Either right beside the gate of ivory, or ... at the opposite end of town.
So I went early this morning to check, and sure enough, there it is. A huge monolith of what looks like cow-horn, swirled black and brown and cream and white. It kinda looks like a rippled chocolate-vanilla fudgesicle – yummy! Ha ha.
It seems to be inscribed like the other one, and it's humming and swaying as well.
This ... whatever-it-is just destroyed a church like it was made of paper – a clear demonstration of power, and an indication that it's almost ready to come through the doorway.
The mill is right at the midpoint between the two monoliths. I'll bet that's the nexus. That's where whatever is coming will come through. The mill is the doorway.
I don't know how any of that helps us, but information is power, right?
And if you think you can get more answers by going back to the monolith, then that's what you should do – just for crissakes be careful. And if you feel anything odd – headache, blurred vision, dry mouth, itchy nose, anything – then GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THERE RIGHT AWAY!!! The last thing I need is for you to end up in the hospital. Or worse. 'Cause I can't do this by myself.
