Sinister Mask

Though I plan to kill myself after writing this, this is not a suicide note.  Though I will confess to my horrible, and unwilling, participation in a horrible deed, this is not a confession.  I am writing this as a warning.  Should anyone ever attempt to follow in my footsteps, certain knowledges are forbidden for a reason.  Certain secrets aren't meant to be discovered.  Behind me waits the loving embrace of a noose, and though I yearn for the cold grip of a death at my own hands, I will try to take my time and make this all as clear as possible.

Several months ago I came into the acquaintance of a degenerate individual with an insatiable love for the macabre and wicked.  His name was Albert Marwick.  Albert was a dropout from the Miskatonic University in Arkham Massachusetts..  His disturbing theological theories and his macabre outlook on life caught my attention like a strobe light.  I was, until just a few short weeks ago, someone who prided themselves in their sinister mask.  I was the one who made inappropriate jokes about gruesome murders, and pretended to respect maniacs like Charles Manson in an intentional sabotaging of my place in society.  Though I now see that it was always just a front.  I wanted to be part of the counter culture, and this was my way of doing it.  How I only wish that I had looked inward to analyze myself years ago, then perhaps I would not be writing you this warning.

I met Albert at a local bar that hosted metal bands.  I was sitting in a corner enjoying the loud music that was steadily thumping from the speakers when the seat next to me was taken.  I was annoyed by this, for the place was almost empty, and there were plenty of other seats for this stranger to sit at.  I looked over to see a skinny, pale figure wearing a white t-shirt with a grey flannel over shirt.  Both of these were tucked in to a pair of faded blue jeans which were held in place by a very expensive looking belt.  His blonde hair was gelled back in a most upper-class, lawyer fashion.  It was shocking to see anyone at this particular bar wearing anything but all black, but the most shocking about him was that he was smiling at me.  This stranger that sat down next to me, despite all of the available seats, was looking at me with a huge smile on his face.

As I met his gaze, I felt strangely relaxed.  He blurted out an almost annoyingly happy "Hi!"  We began to talk about music, screaming to hear each other over the noise instead of just stepping outside.  Our subject then turned to horror movies where we discussed the great old actors like Lugosi and Karloff to the new greats like Joel David Moore. Finally we worked our way over to the occult.  During our conversation, it didn't take long for me to realize that this pale, skinny stranger was very easy to like.  He was the sort of person that made you want to be his friend.  Almost like you couldn't live without this companion.  If only I had realized then what he was doing!  It's so obvious now, so dreadfully obvious.

Finally, after the bands had finished and it was time to close up, we made our way to the door.  In the parking lot, this depraved individual who I had already began to revere finally introduced himself.  After swapping numbers, we agreed to hang out again sometime.  At this point, I honestly thought that would be the last I saw of Albert.    

Much to my surprise, the very next day I heard from Albert.  He informed me that he would be hosting a horror movie marathon at his place, and that I was invited.  As embarrassing as it is to say, I was quite excited about this.  As I have already stated, Albert was very charismatic.  And as he shared my own interests, I was hoping to turn this acquaintance into a friend.  My day went about as usual.  I ate, I read, I listened to music, and then seven o'clock rolled around.

I threw on some clean clothes, grabbed my keys, and headed out the door.  I arrived at Albert's only fifteen minutes later, and knocked on the portal to his home.   After only a moment of standing there, the door opened.

He invited me into his apartment, and directed me through the first hallway toward his living room.  As I walked through, I noticed that he had obtained throughout his life a vast collection of dolls of the most grotesque nature.  Many I recognized as fetishes straight from Africa, some appeared to be Americanized Voodoo poppets.  And some, I couldn't even begin to guess the origin of.  But all were equally hideous and repulsive.  When I asked him where I could get my hands on such terrifying symbols of blasphemous beliefs, he told me that I couldn't.  That they were not mere replications or artistic fancies, but legitimate symbols from horrible faiths.   He informed me that he was a dilettante who spent his fortune first on education and then funding his own anthropological expeditions into Africa and Asia.  He then moved on to Europe where he spent years in research of witch cults and demonology.  Finally, he had come back to America only a year ago with new horrible knowledges and a vast collection of profane artifacts.   

After giving me a few moments to admire his repulsive collection, which I was truly impressed with, he directed me to a door on the left which lay cracked open.  As I walked through, I entered an exceptionally beautiful room.  It was small, being no more than fifteen feet by fifteen feet.  It's decoration was one of only the most high classed taste.  The room served as a small library.  Each wall was lined with the most beautiful bookshelves of some dark wood, and there was not a single empty spot for even one more book.  As I skimmed over the myriad of antique spines, I caught sight of a few books known to me.  He had the Goetia (in all of it's parts), the Henry Agrippa books, the books of Abramelin, Prinn's Mysteries of the Worm, and multiple historical and anthropological books mostly on ancient religions and cults.

After giving me some time to admire his life's collections, he directed me to a small table which was guarded by two large chairs.  On it sat a single book.  I moved over to the antique volume in it's black leather covering and tried to make out the title.  It was titled Formulae Sacrorum Aedicula Musca, and it's author was one Sacrificulus Oramuscitor.  This book I did not recognize.  When I told him of this, his eyes seemed to flash with something that I can only guess was joy.  I did not know then why it would please him that I did not know the book.  But with the knowledge I now hold on the subject, it is quite clear to me.  For if I had known of the book and it's contents and purpose, I would have known what was to follow.  

He quickly explained to me what the book was.  The title, which was in Latin, translated to "Rituals of the Temple of the Fly."  Albert explained that the book was quite ancient, and written entirely in Latin.  When I raised my eye at this, knowing a book written in Latin wouldn't make an easy read, Albert began speaking to me in the dead tongue.  I couldn't believe it.  He smiled and then resumed our conversation in English.

He carefully opened the front cover of the book to a page that said only "Praeparatio" which he translated to me as "Preparation."  He flipped a few more pages and showed me some diagrams.  They were pictures of robes.  The robes were black covered in a most intricate design of sigils.  The main theme being a large fly that was embroidered on the back.  Albert pointed to some words on the side and translated them to me as "silver thread."  

My eyes widened and lit up.  This was a very beautiful ritual robe.  Though I myself owned no tools for magic or rituals, they were my favorite part of the occult.  Poppets, daggers, and jewelry always grabbed my attention.  Seeing this, Albert pulled a large chest from under the table.  I was amazed to see that upon Albert flipping the lid, a beautiful black silk robe lay folded before my eyes, embroidered with most intricate sigils in silver thread.  Albert had duplicated the robe exactly.

He carefully pulled this out and set it on the table.  Below it were a few bundles wrapped in a plain brown wrapping paper.  He carefully pulled these out one at a time and unwrapped them.  The first was a dagger, which looked identical to the drawing on page eleven.  Then a piece of coal, who's etched in runes matched those of the item on page fifteen.  The next was a black sack with more runes and sigils worked into it with silver thread.  This sack appeared shockingly familiar to the artifact drawn on page seventeen.

Albert had created every necessary artifact in the book.  He flipped past a few chapters, who's titles I couldn't catch, to the fourth or fifth heading before stopping.  He pointed at the title which read "Invocatio Musca Daemonem" and told me that he wanted to try it.  And that he would be honored if I were to share the experience with him.  Needless to say I agreed immediately, without needing to think about it a moment.  I had spent much time studying the occult, but not once had I ever attempted anything I read, or seen anyone else do so.  

Albert explained that he'd need a month to prepare everything.  So I'd have to be patient.  I ensured him that that was no problem.  We left his small personal library and began our movie marathon.  We watched most of the movies we had discussed when we first met, and a few others.  As the sun began to rise, we bid each other farewell and I went home for some rest.

It was a few days later before I heard from Albert again.  We exchanged pleasantries, discussed the news, and he informed me that everything was coming along grandly in his preparations for the ritual.  The month passed by normally.

Finally I received a call from Albert letting me know that everything was ready.  He asked if I could show up that night, and I promised him I'd show.  I arrived at ten and was promptly let in.  He lead me into the library.  The table was gone.  Instead, the floor had been covered in a large circle drawn in what could only have been the ritual coal.  Symbols I had never seen the likes of had been drawn around the edges, and intricate shapes had filled the middle.  Instead of having the lights on, he had lined the inside of the circle with candles.  Something about the way the light danced across the alien runes turned my stomach.  

Albert bent over picking up two objects.  The robe and the black sack.  He quickly pulled the robe over his own head and handed me the sack.  After reaching into the sack to see if more artifacts were stored inside and finding none, I asked what I was to do with it.  He explained that I needed to put it over my head.  Seeing the uncertain expression on my face, Albert assured me that the fabric was so thin I'd still be able to see through it.  I nodded and put the sack on.  Sure enough, despite having only candles to light the room, I could still through it, though not as well as I would have liked.  

He moved me to the center of the circle and told me to face to my left, which he had said was East.  I did so.  After some more small talk, he explained that I should remain facing that way the entire time.  I nodded and the ritual began.  He stood in front of me on the edge of the circle, right inside the line of candles, and began reading from the book.  I had no idea what he was saying, as he didn't bother translating the ritual from Latin to English for me to understand.  As he read, he began moving around the circle to my left.

I stood still, following him with my eyes, not daring to move.  Adrenaline pumping through my veins.  As he began leaving my peripheral, I thought I began to hear a buzzing noise.  Like… flies.  His voice became louder and much more intense.  The farther he moved behind me, the louder the buzzing seemed to become.  And the louder the buzzing became, the louder he read the invocation.  Finally he was standing directly behind me, and the buzzing was almost unbearable.  

Then it sounded as if he changed direction.  He no longer seemed to be circling me, but instead to be walking toward my back.  My nerve gave out, and in terror I spun around as I snatched the hood from my head.  To my horror Albert stood facing me with a crazed gleam in his eyes and the ritual dagger in his hands.  He lunged at me and I fell back shrieking.  As I stumbled, Albert tripped over my feet and fell.

It was then that I noticed it.  It had been standing behind him.  It had been making that buzzing noise.  It was a horrible creature with a black exoskeleton.  It stood no more than three feet tall, but had six barbed legs sprouting from it's body supporting it at a forty five degree angle.  

As I gaped at the monstrosity that stood there, Albert rolled over onto his back.  The knife had lodged itself between his ribs when he fell.  As I saw the blood darkening the floor beside him, the demon must have as well.  It scurried at a terrifying speed toward him and began tearing at the wound.  Albert shrieked.  I fled.

I knocked over several candles and smeared the intricate circle as I half crawled half ran from the room.  I sprinted to my car and drove as fast as I could toward home.  I hit a speed trap, and had gained enough composure to pull over when the red and blue lights flashed in my rear-view mirror.

Fearing that the cop would think I was insane, and fearing that I might actually be, I explained what happened leaving out the three foot monstrosity.  The cop drove me back to the house, not being able to ignore me, but not wanting to let me go on the threat of me being some drugged or drunk crackpot.

Half of Albert's house was in flames.  The cop radioed for the fire department.  They were there almost instantly, and the fire was soon under control.  I lead the cop in to the library.  There lie Albert's burned body.  The dagger still buried in his now black ribs.

The roof had come down in the blaze.  I kicked through the debris, until a firefighter ordered me out, looking for three feet of horrible exoskeleton.  I found none.  Not sure if I was more relieved to know that I had imagined the monster, or horrified that my sanity was slipping, I went home.

But as I lay down, a horrible thought crossed my mind.  The buzzing had come from wings.  Horrible, evil, little wings.  Perhaps it had flown through the roof?  Perhaps the monster had escaped?  I tried to convince myself that the abomination had only belonged to a part of my mind that had been affected by the horror of the ritual.

But over the last few weeks I've been hearing it.  I've been hearing the buzzing.  It's been becoming more frequent.  And louder.  Last night I heard something on my roof.  It was not a squirrel.  It was not a raccoon.  It was the demon.  It's coming for me.  I was the one wearing the sacrificial hood.  I was the one standing in the circle.  It was my blood that it was meant to feed on.

And tonight is a lunar eclipse.  An extremely rare event, considering that there was just a lunar eclipse a few weeks ago.  The night Albert brought that thing into our world.