In case it gets drowned out by other voices or he just outright blows himself up (or worse), I should probably write my story. Or at least, my side of it. I’ve known Kai for years and for better or worse, we’ve stuck through all manner of nonsense. Two years ago though, I think he finally performed his magnum opus of terrible ideas. There’s a little place called Pendle Hill, from the moment we can walk all the kids in our region get told the stories of staying away from that place during Halloween. There’s not much of a reason given for it, other than it’s a bad place to be and the feeling you get when you hang around there at night essentially solidifies the fact no one wants to go while the sun is down. Except for Kai. I’m not sure what particular bug crawled up his ass that year, but he decided he was going to see what the fuss was about. Thankfully, I opted out of this due to an attempt at being sociable at various parties.
Oh, I should probably introduce myself, shouldn’t I? My name is Lorenzo. I typically prefer my privacy to going out, hence the notation of atypical behaviour on the eve that I would otherwise be hanging out with Kai. I’m into antiques and history, and as such a fairly prominent member of the Pendle Council Historical Society. Because I read too much, I have a repertoire of interesting but ultimately useless facts to draw upon and make myself accidently look like an elitist cunt. Honestly, I think the only reason I’m even acknowledged in most circles is because the only social skill I have is being able to school anyone in just about any game, so I can at least say I set that particular gold standard around here. But enough about that, I’m sure you’ll grow bored of me soon enough.
Very early morning on November 1st, I had been home for maybe an hour when I was very rudely awakened by a very frantic phone call. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying (some nonsense about spells?) so I just left the phone on while going back to sleep. He seemed to catch on that I wasn’t responding and decided I should be paid a visit. While him being erratic and panicky when something he planned went sideways wasn’t out of the norm, this time it was different. It wasn’t simply the juvenile frustration of getting your foot stuck in the proverbial bear trap; he was outright terrified of something.
It took a few minutes to get him to settle down enough to be coherent, but he kept going on about being on the hill and his pedometer showing crazy numbers all while describing a group of old ladies. The fact that he smelled like the vodka I got him for his birthday was not lending to his credibility of events. If not for the fact he suddenly threw that book in my face, I probably would have booted him out until noon. That damnable book, if I had any idea what it was a catalyst for I’d have probably tied it to a migrating bird and thrown it out the window… At first I was going to give him the “just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s valuable” speech, but when I actually looked at it something was off.
While he was in the middle of another rambling about walking 45 miles in half an hour, I cut him off “Kai, where the hell did you get this? This thing is old.”
He finally realised I was actually paying attention to what was in front of me at that point “It just showed up on my bed with that note. How old do you think it is?”
I looked over the cover; it was made out of leather that I couldn’t quite identify. Very piecemeal, it even had an eyelid on the spine. Cracked here and there, but otherwise someone took good care of it. “Old. I mean OLD, old. I’d almost say ancient. Other than a few enthusiasts, no one makes book covers out of leather anymore. This thing looks like it belongs in a museum”. I opened it up and took a look inside.
While giving it a run through he asked “You think you can figure out what it is? I know you like old books and stuff so I figured you’d be the best to ask.”
He wasn’t wrong, figuring out aged items was on the border between a hobby and a passion. But to say this thing was odd was an understatement. The pages almost felt like parchment, and it seemed like the ink was a combination of soot and blood, black with a tint of red. What jumped out at me the most was the… illustrations? Someone took their time to make them perfect, but they were some of the most macabre things I’d ever seen this side of an H.H. Giger art book. Even the little note that purportedly came along with it was of an odd paper, and apparently new to boot.
It was still early, I was tired, so like an idiot I agreed. “Look, I’ll take a pass at it, if nothing else to see what you have on your hands here. But it’s way too early for me to say anything else aside from that.”
He looked relieved when I said that. Likely because whatever he had gotten himself into he wasn’t going to be going at it alone more so than the fact that I’d find some answers. After sending him back on his way (or at the very least to the couch so I could get some sleep) I put the book on the shelf. I started heading back to bed when I had an odd sensation on me. I looked around and the only thing my eyes went to was that haunting book. I could have sworn it just blinked at me.