The Ctuous Society

The Edge of Darkness

Excerpts from Michael Jones’ journal

Editors note: The text has been edited for brevity.

March, 1974

I’m currently in a library, doing some research on new information I gained from Rupert. Oh, poor old bastard, it’s been nearly 40 years, and when I finally find him, he’s on his death bed.

Apparently, in his youth, Rupert rode with a small band of students, fronting as a fraternity. In reality, one member (Ed. Marion Allen) had acquired a special book written in Latin. The book described several rituals and objects, that could be used to summon spirits.

The group tried some small rituals as a curiosity, but due to dubious sources or lack of discipline, none of them worked. Not until Allen came one day with a sarcophagus, infant sized, described in the book. They tried to use the sarcophagus to summon a guide to help them on further endeavors, but it went terribly wrong.

Rupert has asked me and four others to try right his wrongs in the farmhouse, so he gave us the journal, the sarcophagus, and a key to the house. […] It’s not exactly a professional team, but I trust Rupert’s judgement.

Editor’s note: The four others were: Steve Grant, Jack Revyg-Camylio, Lena McRay and Zodd Brodey.

We arrived the farmhouse late afternoon. I quickly found the symbols Marion had plotted down, the binding circle fully intact, and detailed notes of what we need to do to rid ourselves of this monster. On arrival, I warned the rest of the attic, telling them not to go up there, as the spirit was believed to reside there.

The documents said we had to “unsummon” the spirit at the stroke of midnight, and the ritual could take several hours. Jack and I remained at the house, while the rest went back to the city to get supplies. I found the least dirty piece of furniture and decided to get some sleep, it would be a long night, after all.

I awoke to a scream, noticed Jack on the floor beside an ancient fridge… Directly beneath the attic hatch, which was slightly ajar, and was slammed close with force. Jack would not stop screaming, the kid was cut bad across the face. I patched him up as best I could, and tried getting him back to his senses.

The fool had heard thumping on the ceiling from the attic, and was curious to see what was there, after I had explicitly told everyone not to. Luckily for him, the rest of the gang came back, and Lena is pretty good as a field medic. After this, there was no questioning that we were dealing with a serious matter, and everyone seemed firm in their resolve to… resolve this matter.

We had a lot of time to kill, and Lena had brought her dog. After putting Jack on a couch to rest up, she took her dog for a walk. She came back, fifteen minutes later. She ran in through the door, screaming, without her dog. She started speaking nonsense about the dog flying and getting cut, as if something invisible had grabbed him.

[…] The entire area was under the influence of this thing, and the house is the only safe place, because of Marion Allen’s symbols stopping the spirit from coming inside. I do not care what happens next. Even if I have to sit here chanting latin for two days straight ALONE, I will not leave the thresholds of this cabin.

April, 1974

I woke up here in this hospital two weeks later, three days ago. The crew told the hospital staff I had been in an accident with a tractor. How ironic, to try reading behind newspaper articles to get to the truth, then starring in one.

From what I remember, the plan went smoothly until the first shift was up. I started the ritual with Zodd, then got relieved by Stephen. I went to get Lena, who seemed to be doing much better.

Then there was a knock on the door. […] The hobo was back, and he seemed scared. […] The bastard dragged me out the door, with unnatural power for such a frail man. I landed on top of him, and we struggled a bit, when my left arm got grabbed by what felt like a claw. Only there was nothing there. In my panic, I tried shooting the empty air where I knew something SHOULD have been, to no avail. […] My only thoughts were of getting back inside. I think I shot the man, but if I hit him, it had little effect.

A sudden jolt of pain in my left arm reminded me I was still being grabbed by nothing from the other side. I slammed my gun down where I thought I was being grabbed from, and the invisible claw gave way. As I was being pulled back, I remember a sweet relief as I saw the ceiling above, then there was a flash of intense pain, right under my left shoulder. This pain was like nothing I’ve ever felt before, or care to feel again. The whole world went red, then black. It didn’t matter though: I was finally inside.


Creutz Creutz

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