A Note Written in Blood
A rustling of the leaves. A creaking of the wooden walls. A whispering of the breeze. All these were things that I heard as sat alone, in the depths of my mansion. I was, as usual, reading the occult texts that my family had passed down from generations ago, written in an ancient language few would understand. These books had always been my childhood fascination, ever since my father died. I have constantly sought the secret to necromancy, but yet, it remained beyond me. I scoured the entire world for any possible hint of a ritual to make my father come back alive. Oh, I have been looking for so long, yet the truth evades me. Both my parents had been alchemists and cultists in an obscure organization, which I only remembered in my childhood as symbolized by a single human eye, wide open and staring, enclosed in a crystalline pyramid, with blood dripping down from the sides. Once, I remembered seeing it glowing with an almost alluring light, stirring something deep within.
For that reason, I had always hated eyes, and which is why, in a fit of despair over my parents’ deaths, I had violently torn my eyes clean out of its socket and swallowed it whole to try cleanse myself of any relationship with that vague society. Most fortunate it was though, that with the loss of one of my eyes, my hearing had become so acute as to be able to the heartbeat of those around me. That was why I moved into my secluded mansion, after slowly getting rid of every last servant, hiding their eyeless bodies deep in the dungeons that my parents used.
However, there is still one book of forbidden knowledge that I have never read, and that is the stache of my parents greatest treasure ‒ the most dangerous and insanity-causing tome, which is said to have driven many mad by mere mention of its name. However, this book is behind It, and never once shall I go down there again, since It was the most horrorible thing, a Final Judgement on any who look upon it, worse than even incanting the names of the Old Gods Who Rule The Void. The only time I had went to see It caused me such distress that I was found walking, half undressed, wandering the forest around my house, covered with hideous scratches and lacerations, with curiously shaped bite marks on my arms. Such agony must I have been subjected to, since I have no memory whatsoever of the actual event. It is something that I can never face, not even if the deepest secrets of the Universe were revealed to me, not even if the fabled Elder Gods awake from their deep slumber and make me be subject to their whims.
Yet,as the night grew long, as my senses grew more acute, I began to grow restless. I knew with an unnatural certainty, that the final secrets to necromancy were behind IT. I began to talk to myself, arguing back and forth with the bloodied paintings, each lacking their left eye. I cannot decide. I must decide. I must seek the forbidden knowledge, hidden deep in my mansion by my ancestor of days past. I must go.
With my torch in hand, its flame casting curiously shaped shadows onto the walls, I descended into the depths. With each passing step down, I began to feel an unrelenting presence behind my back. No matter how many times I turned to look behind me, I could not see a single shadow out behind me, and even when pausing to listen intently with my sharp hearing, I heard nothing. As i went even deeper into the darkest corners of my house, I felt as if the very light emanating from my torch began to fade and whittle in the all consuming darkness. As I walked around the corridor, leading to IT, I braced myself, and holding my torch out in front of me, I walked around.
What I saw next was… Nothing… Nothing at all. Only heap of bones, vaguely resembling two humans holding each other close. Wait… What’s that necklace that lies around the neck of one? Oh no.. Oh no… My family’s prized locket. How did it come to rest here, out of all places? How?
Then, I felt old memories, blocked out by age and by my own will, rise again to the surface… I had been the one who killed my own parents at the age of 6, by locking them down here with no light. With this realization, my madness finally consumed me… In a fit of rage, I took a knife and tore jagged holes through my own abdomen, and drew a bloodied pentagram on the floor. No doubt that you, reading this now, can see all of this clearly, for I have brought my own end upon myself, and rightfully so.