This one’s for fans of H.P. Lovecraft.

We had a Christmas party last night, and as is the thing to do, we had the “white elephant” fake gift exchange thing. These are always pretty funny, and everybody raised the bar this year. Among the gifts were gems like: an old banana, fake male genitalia, Fancy Liqueur, several that included notes with instructions the gift opener had to follow, and of course, a live mouse.

I however, was the lucky recipient of possibly the greatest gift. It was a small black book, wrapped carefully in gold chains fastened by a small lock. The keys were included. Removing the protective chains with a ominous sense of foreboding, I was shocked to see a cover which only began to hint at the horrors which awaited me:

I opened the book quickly, not giving a thought to my future. I did not take seriously the fact that the books previous owner had been so careful to lock its contents under heavy chain. Curiosity, the folly of man… also, I was more than a little drunk…

The first page had a Wal-Mart gift card (completely real) fastened securely to the top corner. It seemed to radiate with an otherworldy fervor. the page contained symbols that did not belong to any language known to me or the others in my company. I remained slightly amused at the sight, and perhaps because of the high spirits of the party, or because of the fine drink, I glanced over the strange runes, barely noticing the similarity the symbols bore to that unpronounceable horror known as “Cthulu.”

Continuing, the book contained more strange symbols. It seemed that whoever had crafted this work had created, or discovered, a strange symbology that in itself, even when unreadable, contianed a sense of growing dread. Staring at the symbols, they seemed to almost representational, depicting the death of innocence, the horror of awakened creatures not seen since days long since forgotten by man. I must have completed missed the note at the bottom of the page, warning me, pleading with me, screaming at me, “Don’t read the words aloud!”

After this, the book began to tell, in recognizeable english, stories that filled the reader with dread. Still percieving this to be a joke, I began reading the tales aloud, such as this: “And then shall the gate be opened, as the sun is blotted out. Thus the small crawler will awaken those who dwell beyond and bring them…” Another story, entitled “life as a god,” told of otherworldly intervention by creatures from the higher planes, encroaching on all that we held dear, and the sense of sacrificial devotion these creatures could awaken in their worshipers.

This page snapped me from my drink induced stupor, and I began to awaken to the horror that lay before me, becoming aware that I had stumbled across a thing that was not meant to be viewed by me, nor surely any other man. The page simply read, “When the veils are rended and bring the blood cast dawn, Then you shall hear us speak. From beyond the aeons, speak, of keys and gates.” Then, further down, “A note; do not call up any that you can not put down.”

After pages of what appeared to be maps to the heavens, revealing constellations unfamiliar, alien to the human eye, there appeared yet more warnings. A page beginning with a small text I recognized from studies as script form Hebrew. Having not kept with study, my Hebrew vocabulary was unable to translate the passage, but below it appeared the english words: “That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die.”

What followed appeared to be a personal account of such horror that I could not believe it. I now present the two-page tale in it’s entirety, that it might ward off those who would look too closely into such things and thereby place themselves and their loved ones in such a peril that no language of man can adequately describe.

The page reads, “Last nights ritual has proven fruitful. At Last! At long last, I had strength enough to read the words of the canticle and fend off the beasts that rose from the smoke. Two this time. They dissolved to nothing as I smote them with the oil of Al Hazred. Oh, the power! The Power! Inexplicable, the creatures left something in their wake – two Walmart gift cards. I shall try to spend one tonight. (I’m out of detergent, and my robes are covered in ichor!) If I do not return to finish this book, you will know the card was Evil – if so, DO NOT SPEND THE OTHER! BURN IT WITH THE OIL OF AL HAZRED AND SCATTER THE ASHES!”

This was the last entry, the book remains empty, and the card, securely fastened to the inside cover. It appears that I am now weighed with a terrible burden… do I use the card, knowing it indeed might be the otherworldy evil the book warns of? And the other burden, to serve as watchman, to warn the others, those who, in good spirit, did not read the contents of the book. My only hope now is to use the annual gift exchange as a way to pass on the book, adding my own notes to it, that it may serve as a guidepost for others.

As for my mind, it is forever changed. I cannot now unknow that which I have seen. My mind has seen the horrors that lay beyond that which man was meant to see. Oh, what loss!