If what you are saying is true then you must take swift action *stop* You must do everything in your power to retrieve it *stop* They have little understanding of how powerful it truly is *stop* In nomine salus *stop* Dr. Jones

Being read aloud by the messenger the latin sounded like it was spoken like by a toddler. But he recognized it for what it was. Slipping his hand into his pocket Jack pulled out a wad of bills having no coins. He ended up tipping far more than he should. Taking the telegram he tosses it on the side table and closed the door to his hotel room.

It had taken weeks for the professor to get back to him. Jack had spent the wait avoiding every shadow, doing everything in his power to remain unnoticed. When he picked up the key to the room at the bus station he was sure it was a trap. The Order had obviously heard about his plan and aimed to stop him. But he had picked it up with no incident.

Falling more then sitting on the bed, Jack reached for the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. Battleboro always reminded him of home. As the bottle touch his lips there was a sudden knock on the door

"Telegram sir."

As if it were electrified Jack leap out of the bed. Who knew he was here?

Jack crept towards the door watching the shadows cast that crept out from under the door. There was another pounding on the door.

"Jack open up. I have a message for you."

Jack felt his hackles rise. He hadn't given his name on check in, signing the register as Mike Byron Clarke.

"OPEN THE DOOR" said the voice as it continued to pound, the wood of the door starting to splinter.

Jack dove toward the corner where he had thrown his bag, drawing out his revolver and aiming it at the door.

"LET ME IN," shrieked the voice as the door began to crack under the assault.

Jack pointed the barrel of the gun at the door.

"THE ELDER GODS DEMAND..."

The bang of the revolver cut off the voice as the bullet left a hole in the door. The silence was deafening. Jack could hardly catch his breath.

The slow creak of the door as it opened early stopped Jack's heart. This is the end.

In the hallway slumped against the wall was a hotel maid, a bullet hole marring her forehead.

EVERYTHING IS FUCKING MUD

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 1):

Clarke stood in front of the stove in his boxers. His hair was damp and his white towel draped over his still toned shoulders. He listened to the egg sizzle on the frypan and the flame roar as it heated the metal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the toaster pop. Two slices of crisp brown bread rose into the air.

"She gave the day its heart of fire," Clarke said as he yanked the toast onto the plate. "She gave the night her soul of flame; the sun and moon translated through her love as gods became. She filled me with unearthly strength, a power not of my own was mine; she passed, and crumbled into dust and ashes my divine." He flipped his eggs onto the toast and poked their yokes, letting the orange fluid soak through and spill onto the plate.

"The Night knows not how fair she is," he continued. "Before the stars come in the sky: it is the light within ourselves we see ourselves and others by."

"That's a new one," Lara said as he sat down. "From the isles?"

"From the colonies, Robert Crawford. I am not all fire and brimstone."

Lara leaned over, her pistol shifting as she did so. "What am I doing here, Clarke? Don't you have Zoe to cry a river and lake on?"

Clarke sliced the egg on toast down the middle, and then into a quarter. He stabbed it with his fork and placed it in his mouth. "I miss the simple things: bills, inexpensive breakfasts, unhappy clients. The feeling of sand in your teeth as the sweat rolls down your eyelid."

"This is you getting to the point?"

"Zoe's gone, Lara. Whatever happened in that stone, it set her free. As a demon, as a phantasm, as a dark wraith to seduce young men - I can never be too sure. However, she is beyond my realm now." He picked up another piece of his breakfast and chewed down on it.

Lara leaned back and pulled down her khaki shirt. "I warned you about this. Letting your emotions dwell on a loved one ain't only a gateway for you."

"And lesson learned, too late, I am afraid, but learned all the same."

Lara stood, the half-light catching her hair she did. She gritted her teeth. "I'm not your daydream Clarke. You can't snap your fingers  and demand I pop out of thin air to titillate your wants. I'm the bane of this universe. An ancient spell gone terrifyingly wrong."

She turned and pulled out her pistol. Placing it on the middle of Clarke's forehead, she took a step back and cocked the hammer. "You fucked up again. You should be here. Not me."

He finished the bite in his mouth and let his knife and fork rest in midair. "I was only following orders."

"They didn't ask you to read it."

"They asked me to interpret the text, I did not know I was mumbling an incantation."

"You knew there were monsters beyond the veil, you had seen them take Thomas and Whitney. You picked up their dog tags from a pile of limbs. What possessed you to read it aloud?"

He picked up the tea he had made earlier and took a sip. "I was young, and thought I could transverse to the other side. I thought I could see Zoe."

She lowered the weapon. "You thought wrong, and now you've shat out a little girl. A Frankenstein spirit, if there ever was one."

Clarke tossed his knife and fork on the table and pushed his plate away from him. He rubbed his recently shaved face. "So these gods have a sense of humour. Zoe and I got what we wanted, a tyke to call our own."

He could feel rage pulsating from Lara as she sat down. "I live on this side Clarke, I could have told you what would happen. This is a twisted mirror of your world. Everything good is evil and everything right is terror. How many times when you were dabbling into those artefacts did I warn you? How many times must I come back here and lecture you on what awaits in this abyss?"

"Then you will not like this news, I am going to Scotland."

"Once more into the fray? Is that it? Over the top for the glory of the empire? You will fare as well as those boys on the front."

"Jack believed..."

Lara smacked him, and he felt it. She grabbed his towel and pulled him within inches of her face. "I've met Jack. I've seen that man's soul from inside and out, he ain't the saint you wish him to be. He was madness before he left, and madness after they ensnared him. His only grief is that there is something far darker and vile than him out there and it's not human. He hates it because it hates his kind, his skin and his flesh. He hates it because it is different. But under that hood, they're the same. They wish for the world to burn for the wrongs they feel they've been afflicted with. Jack, son of the wealthy. Jack, son of the silver spoon. Jack, son of the chasm that separates humanity from Satan. "

Clarke pushed her away. "I do not deny Jack was as vile as his father. But these creatures have taken all my friends and emptied my soul, I wish to hurt them. Jack may dream of himself rising as the master of the eclipse, this is true. And perhaps I am aiding him, but if I can wretch a single scream from whatever lurks over there ... I will do it. I wish for them to burn."

"Angels and mighty forces of reason, you're lost, Clarke."

"I am," he said, standing. "I realised in that stone, I have been lost for a long time."

She scoffed. "You trust it?"

"I trust that it wishes to bring about the will of its master. It wishes for the demon lord to tear through and consume us for pleasure. And like that evil, I longed for the touch of joy to shatter my world and make me whole. But that is why the stone and its master will lose because I am here for vengeance. I seek to expend my might until the last, they seek to survive."

Lara inserted her thumbs into her pockets and leaned back. "You're the dumbest fucker I'll ever work with."

"Then we go to the land of pagans and blood-curdling rituals."

"And pray we return."

Clarke chuckled at the last part. Lara had turned into more of an optimist than he had. He picked up his plate and emptied the scraps into the bin. He doubted that he would have a meal as good or as safe as the one he had just eaten for a while.

Going upstairs, he sorted through all his belongings and packed as much as he could into an old military duffel bag that he had kept. It bulged at the seams. The only things he left in the cupboard were his suit jackets. He had no interest in pretending to be part of the colonisers anymore. He had been born from the sands, and he would die as one their emissaries. We would die in a foreign land, in a land that had sent metal soldiers against his ancestors and cut them down because of a god who lived in a book. It was a country that would not welcome him, and so he would not toy with their rituals. It was time for him to show the fates the fire of an Arabian.

Rolling up his sleeves, he looked at his watch. It was almost time to meet Mike. He took one final scan of the room. Everything was polished and perfectly put in place. His bed had a crisp feel to it.  The only thing that did not belong was Lara. She stood in the corner, smoking a cigarette. The embers of the paper illuminated the wall behind her. She had not changed since their earlier encounter, her loose shirt and weapon sagging from her taught frame.

"Got everything?" she asked.

"Only what I can lose," he said.

"Then let's go and pretend to be brave."

She threw her cigarette at the ground, but it faded into the air before it got there. She walked past him and out of the door. "Jack is a demon," she said as she headed downstairs. "He just wears a human suit."

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 2):

Shelly dropped Mike's plate in front of him with a clatter as the ceramic hit the wooden table top. She took a step back with her hands on her hips as she glared at Mike, "You're going where?" she asked, her nostrils flaring with anger.

Mike lowered his eyes to his dinner plate as he rubbed his palms together in his lap. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get himself out of this one. After years together, they'd had their share of arguments. But he had a hard time reconciling a trip Scotland himself after everything he'd seen over the past week. His fingers fidgeted in his cupped hands slightly. He cleared his throat and raised his head to meet Shelly's cool glare. "Scotland. We're going to Scotland."

Shelly puffed out her cheeks and looked at him in further disbelief, "Jesus Christ, Mike. Why the hell are you going all the way out to Scotland? And tomorrow?" Her voice raised as her anger rose with it.

Mike still didn't know what to say. All of it was unbelievable to him. That last place he wanted to go back to was Europe. "We have some important business we have to do there. It has to do with our old friend Jack." He put his hand up before she could interrupt him, "Give me a moment. I know it's sudden. But..." he drifted slightly, unsure where his thoughts were going, "it's something we have to do. You see, Jack might be in trouble. And we might be the only people who can help him."

Shelly glared for a few moments longer, then she turned suddenly and grabbed a mason jar of 'shine from the cupboard and went into the bedroom. "Whatever Mike," she muttered before shutting the door.

Mike ate half of his plate. He tried to enjoy it. Mashed potatoes, green beans, with some pork. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he didn't know when he would get to taste Shelly's cooking again. His hands shook slightly as the fork and knife scrapped against the plate.

Jack's alive.

He chewed on the pork.

And Shelly's pissed.

A sudden smell filled his nostrils. Familiar, like the smell of burnt gunpowder and wet dirt. The pork in his mouth turned briny and moist. Like mud. He spit it out on to his plate, then stood up and dumped it in the trash.

Outside, Mike stood smoking and gazing up at the stars. He felt small, reflecting on how large the universe was. Things were simpler before, even after the war. At least compared to now. The universe was gigantic, unfathomably so. And there were things in it that were just as unfathomable. The dead could be possessed and rise, occult magicians - his friends included! - could cast magical spells against unknowable horrors in entirely different realities. Everything he had ever known or had experienced seemed so mundane and pedestrian. He was a grain of sand on the beach, waiting for the great cosmic tides to come and wash him away.

"Hey Mister," a voice quietly broke his thoughts from behind him, "Do you have a cigarette?"

He turned and realized that Shelly was standing behind him. She had somehow come outside without him realizing it. He smiled in the moonlight, "Of course." He pulled one out and handed it to her. She took it and he lit it, the flames flickering from his lighter casting an orange glow around her face.

"Thank you," She said after taking a drag. She took another and bit her lip in thought, "So you're really going, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Mike said, "I guess I have no choice."

"There is a choice," Shelly replied, "You're just too stubborn to realize it."

Mike gave a small smile, "You're probably right, as usual. You still angry?"

Shelly laughed quietly. "You bet your ass I'm still angry." She took another drag from the cigarette, her feet carrying her a little closer to him. "I've been worried. You haven't been home all week, and it's been hard taking care of the shop and guys without you around. Did you know some kid bit John Boy so bad that he had to get stitches?"

Mike looked at her surprised, "What? When did this happen?"

"Just last night. It was so bizarre." She suddenly shivered and crossed her arms. Mike put his arm around her shoulders. "Like I can't describe it. But I feel like things have gotten weird. Not just us, but the entire town. Like..."

"Like what?" Mike asked worriedly.

She inhaled deeply on the cigarette before dropping it and stomping it out. "Like something horrible is going to happen."

Mike's hands fidgeted as of their own free will. Shelly was right. Something bad was coming. But he didn't know what. And he certainly couldn't tell her that she was right. He suppressed the chill running down his own spine and held her tighter. "Everything will be alright," He lied, "We're just tired. C'mon, let's go inside before you catch a cold."

She let him guide her towards the front door, "Can we afford to pay Aaron for the extra work?"

"We'll make it work. Get my cousin up in Brattleboro at the distillery if you need to. I'm sure either he could come down or he could send one his boys down to help. And if there is any trouble, any at all, go the Road House."

They went inside, back into the kitchen. The smell from before was gone. Shelly turned and planted a kiss on his lips. She smelled like moonshine and tobacco. It was familiar and comforting and Mike didn't care much to leave for Scotland.

"Well," Shelly said, "When you coming back?"

Mike shook his head, "I'm not sure. Maybe a week, maybe two weeks. I'll be sure to telegram if it'll be more than that."

"You better," She said, "Well, let's not let our last night together be an angry one. We can fight when you get back."

Mike smiled and said, "Yes, ma'am," as he followed her to the bedroom door.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:00, Mon 05 Aug 2019.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 3):

“Scotland... I hardly know ye”

Byron walked to his bookshelf and perused the sparse geography section.

He first selected A Short History of Scotland
“The earliest peoples lived in Scotland from 6,000 BC. Farming was introduced in 500 BC. By the Iron Age the Picts came to occupy Northern and Eastern Scotland. The Picts were a Celtic speaking people. They worshipped the pagan god Taranis and burned human sacrifices in giant wooden effigies to him. The Romans invaded Scotland in 80AD and were so severely defeated they retreated and in 123AD constructed a wall to keep the Picts fenced in.”

Next he perused Myths and Legends of Scotland
“On the Shetland Islands in the far north of Scotland are stories of a terrifying beastie called a Frittening. It is a boneless creature, wet and blobby, that roams the woods and moors. It would haunt people’s homes and properties, pressing its giant lidless eye against their windows. It is so vile and ghastly that it may cause the spontaneous death of anyone unfortunate enough to lay eyes on it.”

He flipped a few pages.
“In the 16th century, horror stories had persisted of Sawney Bean, the leader of a tribe that lived in the caves of East Lothian that practiced incest and cannibalism. They were feared for making rugs and clothes from human skin.They would kidnap travelers and drunks, and ritualistically and gleefully flay the victims alive while singing and drinking. They reportedly killed and ate a thousand people. Sawney Bean and his followers were put down by King James for their crimes.”

He flipped a few pages more...
This message was last edited by the player at 18:09, Sat 10 Aug 2019.

In reply to novissimo (msg # 4):

Thunder rumbled in the  distance.

“Sounds like rain,” Byron said aloud as he hunkered closer into his chair.

“Atop Ben Macdui, Scotland’s second highest peak, climbers tell of unexplainable feelings of terror and dread. They claim to hear foot steps following them, and to see a looming grey figure. A number of climbers have disappeared entirely. ‘I was seized with fear and overcome with a deathly chill. There is something grave about the spirits on that mountain, I shall not return’ one climber told.”

Rain started to pitter outside. And thunder grew closer.

Byron opened his copy of Scotland and the Great War.

“On April 2 1916, Edinburgh was bombed by two German Zeppelins in the first-ever air raid on Scotland. The first reports of bombs landing in the Leith area of Edinburgh arrive shortly before midnight. Over the next 35 minutes, 24 bombs are dropped on the capital killing 13 and injuring 24.”

The rains outside intensified still.

He flipped a few more pages.
“Scottish Battalions fought at Gallipoli and the Somme where hundreds of thousands of British soldiers died. By the end of the war 140,000 Scots gave their lives.”

An enormous thunder clap startled Byron suddenly.
He flipped more pages.
“Glasgow was the first UK city afflicted by the Spanish Flu, the worst influenza pandemic in recent history. Millions died world wide.”

The lone light bulb in Byron’sapartment flick out.

“Damn it” he muttered. The rain was turning into a gale. He put down his book to rummage for his old kerosene lamp.

After lighting it with a match he set it on his desk. He took out his research note book, a crows quil and a jar of charcoal ink.

“When the mood strikes” he philosophizes to no one.

He cut the quil with the pocket knife he hide in his desk draw and dipped it in the ink. He scribbled

“The seance was an intense experience like none I have heard of or participated in. The group suffered collective Jungian psycho subliminal cross dimensional trans substantiation and had full on interactive psychic fright motivated scenarios precipitated by a  class 12 stone encased dementor demon drawn from our own past experiences. The stone demon”

Just then light and sound filled his room the likes of which he hadn’t seen since the war.

In the light he could just make out a shape in his window, it’s unblinking eye staring.

And just as quickly the figure vanished

“Bugger all” Byron mutter. He noted the time on his wristwatch.

“Possible sighting 9:37 outside home. Brief vision of Frittening.”

He continued

“Upon return from Scotland I plan on implementing my ambient ectothermic barometer recording device based on the recent works of Edison and Marconi.”

He finished up his notes and started packing his suit case in the dim lamp light as the winds grew louder

Just then he heard a light tapping on the door.

“Who’s there?” He asked. The tapping continued.

“I wish I finished that damn ectothermic reader. Would have made my work concrete!”

His last word is cut off as lightening strikes outside and his world is flooded by light and tremendous noise. The light exposes the dozen frettenings slithering around his room. He seized in terror at the revolting sight of the glistening boneless bags of slime excitedly shimmering around, their eyes wide in inhuman curiosity as if hungry. They dart to and fro as they circle nearer. He shrieks in his paralysis and suddenly blacks out to the feeling not unlike that  of falling off the top of Mt Ben Macdui.

He wakes in the morning to find his suitcase packed and neatly placed by the door and all his books returned to their shelves.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:22, Sun 11 Aug 2019.