The Menace Of That Most Demented Order (3) “Eli,” remarked Jonathan. “You told me that Bernard in former times would—lure women to his place of abode and offer them up to creatures of the underworld. This seems to be what we have just witnessed.” “Yes,” remarked I. “That would appear to be what we have been made aware of.” “I wonder—” commented my Uncle Alfred, “It is very—why did the recording cease at that exact moment. It is almost as if—we are being teased.” There was silence at this, the all of us digesting this vital nugget of information from my Uncle Alfred as Landon returned and began to pack up his equipment. It was a genuine analysis. It seemed almost as if a trail of bread crumbs were being left for me to follow, just enough so that I would proceed undisturbed. It cannot be doubted that Bernard was in possession of powers and persuasion of a wholly contemptible and otherworldly nature, but could he steer recent events as they have come about? Could the little girl in the bright blue blouse being—as was supposed by Jonathan—an evil spirit sent to discomfit me, could that spirit be used to seduce me towards a certain outcome when I beheld my uncle in our next confrontation? Could discovering that my Uncle was going after a primordial tomb called The Book of the Dakaroth, could that too be a part of his design? And was it not in the realm of possibility he’d find some way to work whatsoever becomes of the operation that Ackerly Lott and I are going to engage in to his advantage? In regards to what was on the horizon I began to get the distinct impression that my Uncle Bernard was harboring a proclivity for whatever was coming between us to materialize in an aspect that he himself foresaw. Perhaps he felt he could sway me to his position? Whatever it was that gave him his dark confidence, I had to ultimately trust in the divine providence that my Uncle would not add me to his long list of acolytes. And indeed, how could he? I knew of no power that he could command to bring about such a thing. The very thought of becoming a part of this wicked conglomerate would leave palpitations enshroud about me such as it relates to that divine court of cosmic retributions. Landon packed up his things, said he would return after a brief interval, and though that was the end of that daunting and disturbing night, leaving us all questing for answers that declined to spring forth, it was only the beginning of a deep and dark descent from which I and all my comrades were about to plunge precipitately into. The multifaceted characteristics of Landon’s account and the queer circumstances of the captured video had not been given proper time for digestion when on the following day a letter was sent to my Uncle Alfred’s place of abode with no postage anywhere to be seen and with writing written in a most curious script on its surface the words For Eli, a household attendant having made me aware of this odd occurrence. I examined the envelop for the minutest of moments, placed it on a desk inside of my guest chambers, and considered in truth of disposing of it, not having the slightest allusion of who would be attempting to contact me this side of the Atlantic. I—however—after a good deal of rumination throughout the day realized this may be an endeavor by that most pernicious cult of my Uncle Bernard’s to impart some knowledge to me, and I expeditiously made my way through the bountiful halls of the middle level of my Uncle Alfred’s mansion to the third floor where my guest bedroom was, retrieved the letter and this is what it said: You no doubt are beset by many questions and uncertainty clouds your perception and judgment a great deal, but I assure you that what I offer you is power that few can resist nor match. Our bloodline is bathed in the mysterious, it is only fitting that I be allowed to pass on this most arcane wisdom and secrets to one of my own lineage. This has been the way of things for Wellingsworth ancestry since there has been Wellingsworths and is how I took my place amongst the order. I will confess to you now that I myself harbored a persistent and never-dying resistance to succumbing, but desire to know the knowledge (oh, the sweet knowledge!) has ways of seducing even the most resolute disbelievers. Things will—with time—become more palatable to you, ideas you thought to detest will become second nature, and you will grow up in the enigmatic as it were. We must needs meet again, Eli. Find me in the forest that adjoins Wellingsworth Manor tomorrow night. May the Arcane Brotherhood always find you learning, growing, and serving our most maleficent master— -Bernard I was unnerved throughout while reading my Uncle Bernard’s letter, my hands trembled, palms stained with sweat; an otherworldly foreboding, a true and tangible apprehension seeping into my conscious mind of what lay on the other side of the reveal, of the yoking again with my Uncle. I could not simply play into his sordid and demented schemes, could I? My Uncle was engaging himself in an assortment of stratagems, wily cunning and craftiness to seduce me into his order. Could he in truth reinforce these tactics? Could I be made subservient to that most (as he called it) Arcane Brotherhood? That most demented of servants to the prince of this world? Despite any misgivings that were welling up in my inner most being, I would ultimately hold constricted to the belief that I had to untangle the iniquity of this man, and if that meant placing myself in hidden and mysterious peril then so be it. I would take up this newfound challenge of my Uncle’s and converse with him on his own unhallowed and sullied ground, the borders of his preceding preternatural and shadowy sanctuary, the forest that adjoined that house that Bernard Wellingsworth built. The next night Jonathan and I arrived in the residential district of Wellingsworth Manor and took a dirt path detour through the forest located in the vicinity. My Uncle left no intimation as to how I was to seek him out, though I surmised that he would (using some dark and supernatural method drawn from the abyss) happen upon us. He did not in the letter give any forewarning of arriving alone, and I would not have done so if he had. Jonathan being possessed with psychic ability and having some knowledge of this sphere of influence calmed any palpitations that I was currently experiencing only to a degree; however there remained an undercurrent of dread situate within my subconscious mind bubbling up to the surface, yearning to make itself known to me in passageways and avenues the human mind just should not have to wander, true terror undeniably just on the cusp of being realized. What this was I could not tell, though I perceived it to be the fear of what lay just beyond the current unveiling of my Uncle Bernard’s mastery of evil. After traversing the dirt pathway for some time, I finally pulled the vehicle alongside the road, we exiting the automobile, deciding on the possibility of engaging in a late night walk through this accursed forest. We negotiated many a broken tree limb and crunched over pine needles and dead leaves when (and this is quite curious) a remarkable fog had began to descend over the expanse, a preternatural occurrence it seemed, obscuring any far sight that we could manage in the growing gloom. Jonathan and I exchanged troubled glances and I sought to reassure myself amongst the monstrous perplexity which now stood before me. “Do you—think this could be the work of Bernard?” I asked him. He hesitated, glancing around this way and that, looking for any such notion that would give a hint as to the nature of this bizarre fog, and—perhaps—disquieted himself as to what it might conceal. “In truth, I can’t tell,” he said. “We’ll know soon I sense however. This forest has—a history—a very bleak history, I can almost see through the curtain of the past hiding the particulars of what happened here, though it is still quite indistinct. Come, let us continue.” We walked on cautiously after that exchange. Having some understanding of the peculiars of what transpired in this potentially haunted greenwood, my mental conditioning soon departed from me and I began to waver to the extreme. I would wander places intellectually which sound minds just don’t venture in the everyday course of things. A collage of demoniacal inspired controversies began competing with me as to just how Bernard was going to seduce me into his Arcane Brotherhood. Would I be shocked into submission? Bernard mentioned that he was beguiled into the Brotherhood. In my case would it take further direct unveiling of even more fiendish creatures of which I (in some circumstances) only saw indistinctly; there being in several other instances more immediate contact? Would my dreams be assailed again? In my second account, which sought to set forth the path that I endeavored to take, nightmares the likes of which I have never known conceivable plagued me, and it was through these nightmares that I had determined to brazen the horrors of my Uncle Bernard. Would these specters return and inflict their matchless mental woe on me in reprisal to my steadfastness? Or, would I actually come willingly? Bernard had said that his desire to practice and delve into these idolatrous secrets was enough to break any resoluteness he had formerly displayed. Was this the position that I myself was going to take? Would I develop to harbor an attraction regarding these condemned avenues of mystic mayhem? These queries and their sibling-like relatives progressed rapidly through my psyche and conscious mind; when one possibility had been exhausted or extinguished there arose another more formidable to take its place. I had hardly the reprieve granted to consider the rationality of any of these devilish portents. My mind was like an expressway and each of these dastardly potentialities the vehicles which coursed over the paved road. From time to time I would examine Jonathan’s visage and he seemed like he was only receiving shadowed glances of the hideousness which took place in this forest, it being so situationally close to Wellingsworth Manor, where my Uncle Bernard was wont to practice the most vile and detestable acts of depravity his human heart was capable of. We maneuvered through towering pine trees, a slight glimmer in the distance having aroused our sensory perceptions, and having cleared that we chanced upon a still lake, the thick fog giving the area mystical and marvelous qualities, the full moon positioned above us casting its faint glow and reflecting upon the cool waters. This scenic view had actually achieved something that my puzzling out could not manage, it calmed my mental palpitations. The experience proved—it was true—to work a refulgent magic in bringing a kind of normality to my thought patterns, but this was only to be the calm before the massive overflow. The two of us would gaze at this wonderful sight for a few more brief moments when I noticed movement on the surface of the lake. It was the little girl in the bright blue blouse, the luminescent figure of which I had become so acquainted with, or was it? Jonathan had suggested to me that this spirit was probably impersonating the young girl who wished me to undue my Uncle Bernard’s malice, who had helped me previously and had wanted to aid in any way that she could. She was approaching now, gliding across the lake, her insubstantial and ethereal form not disturbing the water in the slightest degree. As she advanced, I remained transfixed on her most immaterial, floating figure. The distance between us was evaporating rapidly now, and through some unknown reservoir of strength and determination I managed to steal a peek at Jonathan who stood by my side near the borders of the lake. He appeared enraptured by this ghost of a girl’s presence. Somehow, someway, I called out to him, seeking the aid that he could give. He did not respond. His eyes were glazed over, like he was caught in a mystifying and inexplicable waking nightmare. Now this episode of remarkable uncanniness had the same quality of when I discovered my Uncle to be present with me in Wellingsworth Manor and Jonathan and I both had formerly became incapacitated. It was as if whatever untoward happenings my Uncle was about to formulate were for me and my ears only. She reached us then. I turned towards her luminescent form and awaited the unfathomable. “My, Eli, you do make things difficult, don’t you?” she said. And (it must be mentioned here) her voice was altogether not composed of a girl of ten or eleven years of age, but that of a raspy echo, of a demonic being exuding a presence to unsettle the very marrow of my bones, penetrating any resisting powers I had previously established, and making me desire not the comfort of my Uncle Alfred’s Manor, but my home in Upstate New York, giving me pause to doubt this expedition that I had hitherto dedicated myself, the exposing and eradicating of the hidden evil of my Uncle Bernard. “I—” spoke I hesitantly, “I—don’t quite know what you mean.” “Oh, you know exactly what I hint at.” And there seemed a flash of red crimson in the being’s eyes, a shimmering enveloped this spirit creature, and I could see the outlines of the being’s true form. Was Jonathan then wrong? Was this ghost of a girl throughout this entire charade in the employ of my Uncle? “Listen, Eli,” it said raspingly, “We will not be strung along by you. Your Uncle Bernard offers you a place among the greats. Do not be so impudent as to deny yourself a position of prominence with us.” At this some steel was returning to my inward man and I chanced a venture down the path of steadfast confrontation and resistance. “Where is my Uncle? He—told me that I was to meet him here. I—did not come to dally about with mischievous spirits. I mean business with that man.” The creature seemed to be amused by this, a half mocking smile epitomizing its features. “You mean business, do you? And we don’t?” It halted here, seeing my apprehension mounting. It spoke then. “Your Uncle, if you must know, sent me in his stead. I have led you about ever since the beginning; in the library, in your dreams, at the manor. You orchestrate nothing. The sooner you realize this, the quicker this will be at an end.” I did not know what to make of all this. To not only perceive rightly for the first time that this apparition, this spirit had been stringing me along these last few months was enough to absorb as is, though this creature seemed to be hinting that supposed poltergeists were nothing more than evil, Satanic spirits sent to mislead humankind, as that is precisely the position I found my own self in, deluded and duped by a demon spirit. Trying to puzzle this maze of complexity out was perplexing and taxing on my already drained mind, and the spirit gave me an opening to gather my thoughts and prepare myself for whatever else was coming. It did not—it seemed—want me to be too altogether shaken, seeing as how it was projecting its human form; it appeared that it was here to negotiate my terms of surrender. A supreme shudder enveloped my spine at this perceived potentiality. The luminescent ghost of a girl saw this, and sought to reassure me. “Now, Eli,” it said raspingly, “you know that your Uncle has great need of you, and a place reserved in the Arcane Brotherhood. When the time comes, he will call upon the one Dakaroth, who will serve as your familiar, a most powerful entity to be joined to, it is sure. We will not countenance your delays much longer. There are certainly more direct ways we have of making you more susceptible to us, though Bernard desires that you come of your own free will. However long it takes for you to come to terms of what is being offered, know this: WEEEEEEEEEEEEE—WILLLLLLLLLLLL—HAVVVVVVVVVVEEEE—YOUUUUUUUUUU!” With those words the spirit vanished in a cloud of preternatural darkness before my very eyes, Jonathan returned to me, and we left that forest, a multitude of questions vying for supremacy with my thought processes. Having proclaimed a great deal of the particulars of my situation and circumstance with the best of my wherewithal, I would be remiss not to remark on the path of declination that my comrades were descending into. It did not take much of an interval after the sinister eventualities in the forest that adjoined Wellingsworth Manor for my Uncle Alfred to begin to confide in me that he was being tormented with a multiplicity of nightmares, such of the terror-inducing kind that would make one dread closing ones eyes for fear of what lay just beyond the curtain of the dream world. I gave him my assessment in saying that it was most probably related to the video of which Landon had shared that dark day, when he gave us all something to internalize, as to the seething shadowy portents being synthesized by that secret brotherhood. But my Uncle remained steadfast in his mounting sentiment, that whatever he was experiencing were direct messages specifically to him, and that they in all actuality related to me. “I cannot quite place it, but—I have vague recollections when I awaken of veiled creatures situate within obscuring darkness warning me to leave you, Eli, to them, and that they will inflict untold misery upon me if I follow through with trying to assist you. And when they give these warnings, it is almost like an uncovering of their shroud takes place, and I can only glance in their general direction for the briefest of moments, but what I see in just those moments is enough to—oh, Eli!—” My Uncle Alfred and I would go back and forth over the reasoning behind these strange and uncouth nightmares for some time that day. I did not wish to believe that I was singled out to such an extreme degree then; though there would come other affirmations from other parties involved in these sordid events that would begin to shake me to the very core of my foundations. Jonathan began to have pressing scepticisms as it relates to his ability to prove of any use to the position that I had recruited him. He complained that he was ineffectual in Wellingsworth Manor and also in the forest that adjoined that Manor and that he needed to reevaluate his belief in psychic phenomena. When I told him that the little girl in the bright blue blouse confessed to be in actual truth an evil spirit who was leading me astray he wavered somewhat as to my convictions that this was the case in all psychic matters, but as time wore on and he began to reflect on the more demented particulars spent here in Manchester (particulars of which he adjudicated were of an altogether different quality of darkness than any he had confronted heretofore) I could see him embarking to reassess the whole of his worldview. Jonathan would in fact head back to New York before the final confrontation with my Uncle Bernard even commenced, but he left me with this final terrifying warning: “Be wary, Eli. While I may have reason to doubt the veracity of psychic phenomena after these lunatic peculiars, I still possesses some link with the supernatural in ways that I don’t fully understand, and I am getting the impression that some very untoward event is coalescing around you and any who are involved in this whole affair. I am glad to have met you and been a part of all this, even if I leave somewhat shaken and in doubt of what my “gift” truly entails. I wish you well in the undoing of your uncle,” he said, and left. Landon—too—showcased an altogether changed mien after having been introduced to the evil of the Arcane Brotherhood. As he shadowed after Bernard, he remarked that he began to see things, he began to perceive messages being sent to him that were not really there. Everything would take on a quality of meaning in the everyday course of incidents. He remarked to me that ever since that fateful video capture of whatsoever took place in that ritual concourse his psyche has taken on characteristics that have left him wondering as to the constitutionality of his own mental acumen. “I can’t see anything anymore without making some mental link to Alexi, or you, or this whole affair!” He said over the phone one day as I sought to receive the latest from his investigation. “Everything is about this—this case! It is a waking nightmare! If Alexi is in fact Bernard, as you and your Uncle persist, then do you think the man must be employing some influence of his to get this reaction out of me? That there is some spirit trailing me, keeping tabs on me, as I do Alexi, and bringing about this uneven thinking of mine? I do not know how much more of this madness I can take!” I told him to get a hold of himself and that it could not last forever. At the very least—I said—when the case is over he could find other things to occupy his mind with. But there was one graphic instance of Landon’s developing mental agitation that gave me pause to consider my own welfare. It started with the following revelation of his: “They do not want your life, Eli, they want your soul! They want you to be dedicated to their cause. At least, this is what I have managed to descry. They want you to practice what they practice with the utmost satisfaction known to a dark and depraved heart. They are adamant about this, I’m sure of it. What? How do I know this? It is what they have been whispering to me! Every since that malevolent day, I have been receiving hints as to the nature of their desires, and I have through some unknowable mental gymnastics hitherto unaccessible been able to puzzle it all out. I suggest going back to New York and never even giving this Alexi another thought…”
Copyright © 2012 Michael Harris |