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THE OLD ORIGINAL
"I have seen things that could make any normal person's blood run cold..."- Charles Blum , a fellow writer of Writco
CHAPTER ONE
There are special entities in the universe, and those who, among the Placid, could not be more horrible than that of Satan's hideous climb from Hell to Earth.
There are those who are against the satanists, and those are many. And, of course, there was Gagnarotothoa, the daemon of the New, and the son to the Infinite Horrible.
I, with my old crew of devil-hunters, have been hired to find, and kill the strange, so-called, 'Old Original'. Did not hear of this thing did I until this request. The employer was only a thousand letter-writers in the old town of Liencomtober; people who had seen some horrible thing out in the woods.
At first, I did not care for these letters, since they only felt like mere rumors made from idiotic, deranged men and women who hallucinated the thing in the woods. Or maybe, methought, they could have just made a huge hoax to make the town more popular; yet, whence reading a newsletter, heard that these writers had gone missing, and I had became interested in the strange request. So,with my crew, we travelled to the lands.
I heard from an article about Leincomtober, that if you walk pass Manchester, and into the sloping trees, and pass the hills running wild, you will see the ancient town of Leincomtober; yet, do not follow the songs of the whippoorwills, for if you do, you will only walk through the valley of death.
Of course, one of my crewmembers needed follow the songs, yet this did not surprise me, for this certain member was weak-minded, and ridiculously stupid. But God rest him, if there truly be any rest at all.
We entranced Leincomtober at four o'clock with our bags and books.Whence we breathed the air, we noticed a slight change in fragrance, which was of the smell of Lenore, the land of dreams. We passed many farms, and when we saw the last one, and before passing it, an old farmer blocked us, and said,
"Dun't go dat' way ef' yew' dun't wunna die. Der were couple kids las' time tryin' go dat' way, and da owner kill'd 'em... I cac'late yew'll need sum assistance comin' through...com' wid' meh, and I'll wak' yew through da oth'er way."
CHAPTER TWO
We each took an individual apartment at the inn at the center of the town, where lay the statue of the mayor of the town, William Liencomtober.
From the distance, as I stared out into the abyss of darkness from my window last night, whilst the others slept, I saw a strange, amorphous color of demoniacal things, which I think almost made me mad. Here, I knocked into the wall of my friend beside me, and demanded he came with me outside into the farm that instant.
We awoke the others, and we walked out and hid in the farm field, and looked into the light. "Where yew' think it's comin' from?", "Methink it be comin' from a torch. Dis' be the place the letters spoke of, and they said that every night a torch is lit."I said. We only moved a little closer, and suddenly came there a loud click, and then a bang!
"Dun't come 'ere 'gain! Lest ye want meh to kill yew! Der' ain't gon' be no blud' faound, so da' police ain't gon' be able to ar'est me!"
His old face was wrinkly and dreary, his high-top forehead was pale. His hair was short, silver, and dismally low.
I am awake now, but I feel more tired than I had ever felt. I can barely write without having a shaky, cold arm. Now, I shall sleep and escape the horror of the sight of that terrible old man, and his gun.
CHAPTER THREE
It has now been two days since our first day, and last night the moon was waxing gibbous, bright and shiny. There was a strange fragrance in the air; a fragrance with a cold and saddened feeling, which even Satan was horrified of.
When we walked through the streets, the day before, there was that old farmer staring out at us.
"Hey!" Exclaimed I
"'Ello! C'mere!"
We walked towards him, and we sat down on a bench with him.
"I heard yew got to 'em... I tell'd yew not to, yet yew did. He prolly tell'd yew dat' he wud' kill yall if yew came back...listen to 'em...der' can't be no chances...."
"But, sir, why? Why wouldn't he let us even a feet away from his fields?"
"Lemme jus' say, der' wus a weird rumor dat' his grandfather summoned da old original...tain't sumthin' ye wud understand, since it be only aour lil' folklore...da thing may kill us ef released frum his cage..."
The strange vague description of what he said next was quite strange indeed. One of my friends began laughing hysterically, as if gone mad, whilst another began hitting his head each minute. The old man's voice was terribly raspy.
"Da ting' is a horrible mass of protoplasm, wid' a thousand tentacles and uncounted eyes...it be a horr'd infestation uf turrible daem'n. And da name uf da old man I dared yew not to go intoos farm is Doskyefski Nestor..."
He then left me with an article from the desolate and desperate poet, Walter Nestor, who wrote of the Book of the Eight. This article was called, 'The Cordetan Bestiary', and he said, before leaving,
"Read page 152...yew'll understand, y'know...".
Inside said the following words,
"It was allow'd, I must say, for the ancient daemons to not have been summon'd by the ancient rituals. And yet, there could not have been such other ways to do so, and thus, they should not at all.
The old original, the daemon-king, the cold chasm, the mass of horror, what ever you call it, the priests know it as the Infinite Horrible, who is lost from his wife, the Ravenous Terrible, who is dead in Samah.
There is the old, the original, and the new;the demoniacal things of sadness. They were that of madness too.
The old, the Ravenous Terrible, the wife of the Old Original, and the one who makes men violent.
The original, the Infinite Horrible, the husband to the Old, and the one who makes men insane.
The new, the deity of dreams, Gagnarotothoa, who dreams of one day gobbling up the universe."
CHAPTER FOUR
Tonight we plan to investigate the farm of Doskyefski. There were things we saw whilst we gathered information; things that no living man could explain.
Today, we interviewed many of the other inhabitants of Leincomtober, and what they told me of, at first, sounded like blasphemy; but after a series of evidence seen from the area of the farm, this all seemed to be true.
They told us that there was some strange, weird, amorphous mass of protoplasm inside the barn house of Doskyefski Nestor, and that the thing must have been the Old Original, for indeed it had many of the same descriptions as the ancient texts of the desolate and desperate poet, Walter Nestor, who wrote of the Book of the Eight.
One elderly lady said that when she had seen Doskyefski Nestor for the first time, Doskyefski was only three years old; and that was only two years ago. Why had Doskyefski grown so much within that time span?
There were rumors that Doskyefski had witnessed the great evil, the Ravenous Terrible; for how could he be that violent? The last of my crew left, except for two other demon-hunters of whom I had met during the travels to Leincomtober. We were strangely determined to investigate the mystery of Doskyefski Nestor, I think there was some strange feeling inside me, festering evermore; some sort of resolution to try to expose he who lived on the farm.
One older woman stood out in description, and spoke of a strange prophecy,
"Whence the moon hath shined brightly, crescent phase of the waning period, there shall awaken the Ravenous Terrible, as she tries to reunite with her husband...she will come in the appearance of a large, rambling monolith at the center of this eldritch town, walking towards the ancient farm.
The last witness shall be Morris Wilcox..."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Put yer' hands up, Mr. Nestor!"
We with the police busted into Doskyefski's house, and saw the hideous upper body of he, the old farmer. Before raising his hand, he hid something behind him.
One of the officers told him to turn around, and right on the back of Doskyefski was a large, bloody wound, which seemed infected with some strange alien fungus, not like that of Earthling illness.
"Wat da 'Ell!"
"I tuld' yew not to come bak 'ere! Dun't wanna kill yew, but I will ef I 'ave to!"
Soon, he pulled a small pair of scissors and plunged it into the nearest officer, whilst my crew and I ran. The other police officer was missing. Doskyefski ran towards us as we tried to open the barn, and when we unclosed the door, we saw the terrible thing within the room, slimy and protoplasmic, an infestation all over the room!
CHAPTER SIX
"What da... oh my God! Great God! Wut is dat! Almighty God!"
"Run Manton, git' aout' uf 'ere!"
We both fell on the ground as the tentacles mass of protoplasm took hold of the other hunter. Then, Doskyefski shoved the door closed.
"Hey! Wut da hell wus dat! Look'd like sumthin frum da Book of da Eight!"
"Becuz it is. Dat wus da Infinite Horrible, da Cold Chasm, da Old Original. It be a' infestation in m'barn, an' I ain't gon' let it go. I only wunt'd yall to remain sane, but yew all cudn't lissen', cud ya? Git out da way, or I swear I'll kill yew..."
Conclusion
© All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER ONE
There are special entities in the universe, and those who, among the Placid, could not be more horrible than that of Satan's hideous climb from Hell to Earth.
There are those who are against the satanists, and those are many. And, of course, there was Gagnarotothoa, the daemon of the New, and the son to the Infinite Horrible.
I, with my old crew of devil-hunters, have been hired to find, and kill the strange, so-called, 'Old Original'. Did not hear of this thing did I until this request. The employer was only a thousand letter-writers in the old town of Liencomtober; people who had seen some horrible thing out in the woods.
At first, I did not care for these letters, since they only felt like mere rumors made from idiotic, deranged men and women who hallucinated the thing in the woods. Or maybe, methought, they could have just made a huge hoax to make the town more popular; yet, whence reading a newsletter, heard that these writers had gone missing, and I had became interested in the strange request. So,with my crew, we travelled to the lands.
I heard from an article about Leincomtober, that if you walk pass Manchester, and into the sloping trees, and pass the hills running wild, you will see the ancient town of Leincomtober; yet, do not follow the songs of the whippoorwills, for if you do, you will only walk through the valley of death.
Of course, one of my crewmembers needed follow the songs, yet this did not surprise me, for this certain member was weak-minded, and ridiculously stupid. But God rest him, if there truly be any rest at all.
We entranced Leincomtober at four o'clock with our bags and books.Whence we breathed the air, we noticed a slight change in fragrance, which was of the smell of Lenore, the land of dreams. We passed many farms, and when we saw the last one, and before passing it, an old farmer blocked us, and said,
"Dun't go dat' way ef' yew' dun't wunna die. Der were couple kids las' time tryin' go dat' way, and da owner kill'd 'em... I cac'late yew'll need sum assistance comin' through...com' wid' meh, and I'll wak' yew through da oth'er way."
CHAPTER TWO
We each took an individual apartment at the inn at the center of the town, where lay the statue of the mayor of the town, William Liencomtober.
From the distance, as I stared out into the abyss of darkness from my window last night, whilst the others slept, I saw a strange, amorphous color of demoniacal things, which I think almost made me mad. Here, I knocked into the wall of my friend beside me, and demanded he came with me outside into the farm that instant.
We awoke the others, and we walked out and hid in the farm field, and looked into the light. "Where yew' think it's comin' from?", "Methink it be comin' from a torch. Dis' be the place the letters spoke of, and they said that every night a torch is lit."I said. We only moved a little closer, and suddenly came there a loud click, and then a bang!
"Dun't come 'ere 'gain! Lest ye want meh to kill yew! Der' ain't gon' be no blud' faound, so da' police ain't gon' be able to ar'est me!"
His old face was wrinkly and dreary, his high-top forehead was pale. His hair was short, silver, and dismally low.
I am awake now, but I feel more tired than I had ever felt. I can barely write without having a shaky, cold arm. Now, I shall sleep and escape the horror of the sight of that terrible old man, and his gun.
CHAPTER THREE
It has now been two days since our first day, and last night the moon was waxing gibbous, bright and shiny. There was a strange fragrance in the air; a fragrance with a cold and saddened feeling, which even Satan was horrified of.
When we walked through the streets, the day before, there was that old farmer staring out at us.
"Hey!" Exclaimed I
"'Ello! C'mere!"
We walked towards him, and we sat down on a bench with him.
"I heard yew got to 'em... I tell'd yew not to, yet yew did. He prolly tell'd yew dat' he wud' kill yall if yew came back...listen to 'em...der' can't be no chances...."
"But, sir, why? Why wouldn't he let us even a feet away from his fields?"
"Lemme jus' say, der' wus a weird rumor dat' his grandfather summoned da old original...tain't sumthin' ye wud understand, since it be only aour lil' folklore...da thing may kill us ef released frum his cage..."
The strange vague description of what he said next was quite strange indeed. One of my friends began laughing hysterically, as if gone mad, whilst another began hitting his head each minute. The old man's voice was terribly raspy.
"Da ting' is a horrible mass of protoplasm, wid' a thousand tentacles and uncounted eyes...it be a horr'd infestation uf turrible daem'n. And da name uf da old man I dared yew not to go intoos farm is Doskyefski Nestor..."
He then left me with an article from the desolate and desperate poet, Walter Nestor, who wrote of the Book of the Eight. This article was called, 'The Cordetan Bestiary', and he said, before leaving,
"Read page 152...yew'll understand, y'know...".
Inside said the following words,
"It was allow'd, I must say, for the ancient daemons to not have been summon'd by the ancient rituals. And yet, there could not have been such other ways to do so, and thus, they should not at all.
The old original, the daemon-king, the cold chasm, the mass of horror, what ever you call it, the priests know it as the Infinite Horrible, who is lost from his wife, the Ravenous Terrible, who is dead in Samah.
There is the old, the original, and the new;the demoniacal things of sadness. They were that of madness too.
The old, the Ravenous Terrible, the wife of the Old Original, and the one who makes men violent.
The original, the Infinite Horrible, the husband to the Old, and the one who makes men insane.
The new, the deity of dreams, Gagnarotothoa, who dreams of one day gobbling up the universe."
CHAPTER FOUR
Tonight we plan to investigate the farm of Doskyefski. There were things we saw whilst we gathered information; things that no living man could explain.
Today, we interviewed many of the other inhabitants of Leincomtober, and what they told me of, at first, sounded like blasphemy; but after a series of evidence seen from the area of the farm, this all seemed to be true.
They told us that there was some strange, weird, amorphous mass of protoplasm inside the barn house of Doskyefski Nestor, and that the thing must have been the Old Original, for indeed it had many of the same descriptions as the ancient texts of the desolate and desperate poet, Walter Nestor, who wrote of the Book of the Eight.
One elderly lady said that when she had seen Doskyefski Nestor for the first time, Doskyefski was only three years old; and that was only two years ago. Why had Doskyefski grown so much within that time span?
There were rumors that Doskyefski had witnessed the great evil, the Ravenous Terrible; for how could he be that violent? The last of my crew left, except for two other demon-hunters of whom I had met during the travels to Leincomtober. We were strangely determined to investigate the mystery of Doskyefski Nestor, I think there was some strange feeling inside me, festering evermore; some sort of resolution to try to expose he who lived on the farm.
One older woman stood out in description, and spoke of a strange prophecy,
"Whence the moon hath shined brightly, crescent phase of the waning period, there shall awaken the Ravenous Terrible, as she tries to reunite with her husband...she will come in the appearance of a large, rambling monolith at the center of this eldritch town, walking towards the ancient farm.
The last witness shall be Morris Wilcox..."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Put yer' hands up, Mr. Nestor!"
We with the police busted into Doskyefski's house, and saw the hideous upper body of he, the old farmer. Before raising his hand, he hid something behind him.
One of the officers told him to turn around, and right on the back of Doskyefski was a large, bloody wound, which seemed infected with some strange alien fungus, not like that of Earthling illness.
"Wat da 'Ell!"
"I tuld' yew not to come bak 'ere! Dun't wanna kill yew, but I will ef I 'ave to!"
Soon, he pulled a small pair of scissors and plunged it into the nearest officer, whilst my crew and I ran. The other police officer was missing. Doskyefski ran towards us as we tried to open the barn, and when we unclosed the door, we saw the terrible thing within the room, slimy and protoplasmic, an infestation all over the room!
CHAPTER SIX
"What da... oh my God! Great God! Wut is dat! Almighty God!"
"Run Manton, git' aout' uf 'ere!"
We both fell on the ground as the tentacles mass of protoplasm took hold of the other hunter. Then, Doskyefski shoved the door closed.
"Hey! Wut da hell wus dat! Look'd like sumthin frum da Book of da Eight!"
"Becuz it is. Dat wus da Infinite Horrible, da Cold Chasm, da Old Original. It be a' infestation in m'barn, an' I ain't gon' let it go. I only wunt'd yall to remain sane, but yew all cudn't lissen', cud ya? Git out da way, or I swear I'll kill yew..."
Conclusion
© All Rights Reserved
