Dec 04, 2023 6:12 PM
A lifelong fascination with the arcane and forgotten propelled me to a career at one of the oldest educational institutions. It was a simple position to the outside world. A history teacher, as Dad would say. Even so, I have always seen myself as a researcher. One who has access to one of the world’s most abundant libraries of ancient texts.
It might be hubris or delusional ramblings of youth, but I always felt that I was meant for great things. You could say my story started the first time I read about the Dead Sea Scrolls when I was about twelve or eleven. How my imagination ran wild with the idea of being some sudo Indiana Jones discovering ancient secrets and deciphering lost history and treasure.
The truth is I really was just a fancy history teacher with an obsession with lost languages. Never once going on a grand adventure. Spending most of my free time locked away in the library or research hall. Combing through other people’s discoveries.
No. If I am going to be honest, my story is not that interesting. I see that now.
It all started by accident, really. A misplaced book, a shelf that moved unexpectedly, revealing a narrow passage I’d never seen before. The moments leading up to it are a bit blurry, but the strangest details remain. I don’t know why I went down the cramped, dusty hallway. Maybe it was that sense of adventure and discovery. The idea of uncovering a mystery that had been right beneath everyone for years.
I remember the cobwebs that clung to me as I pushed forward. How my phone’s flashlight could not seem to cut through the darkness of the impossibly long hallway. Feeling the floor slightly tilting downward as I walked further through the heavy air that was filled with the scent of old paper and a staleness.
The passage must have stretched the length of the campus, perhaps more. It ended at an open archway that led into a chamber. It was a small, circular room lined with shelves burdened with ancient dust-covered texts, what looked like scrolls, and randomly shaped artifacts.
Navigating the room required a conscious effort to restrain my curiosity, knowing that I would risk destroying them if I did not take proper precautions. I had no idea what I was dealing with, how delicate and priceless every item potentially was. Being in their presence felt reckless. The potential damage of exposure weighed heavily on me. I covered my mouth in a pathetic attempt to minimize my impact.
I would have to return with the right equipment and follow the correct procedures. With such a heavy layer of dust on everything, it was obvious that this place had been sealed off for a very long time, and exposing it to any further rapid changes could destroy these precious items. I glanced at the scrolls, knowing they were the most at risk currently.
Then I saw it. Saw it watching me. I had felt awe stepping into this hidden library. Out in the passageway, though, I had felt something else. Something watching me, beckoning me forward. It was not just a book but a presence. It’s leather-bound pages calling out, urging me closer. So I obliged, unable to resist. My caution was abandoned as I ran a finger over its rough surface. Not a speck of dust on its cover.
‘Alex’
I snatched my hand back, surprised. I looked around, trying to convince myself I’d heard someone call my name. A lie though. It had been my own thoughts. Well, not my own, but in my head. I had not thought of my name, though. Why would I? Still, that voice in my head had said it. Even stranger is that it did not sound like me, not exactly.
‘I should relax.’ I remember thinking to myself, ‘It’s just a book.’
I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves. I gently placed my hand on the edge of its cover; I should open it. Just the cover. It should be fine as long as I do not get the oils on my fingers on the pages. I was about to, but the researcher in me thought bringing it back to my lab might be safer.
“Yes, the lab would be better,” I said out loud. I smiled at myself as I usually did not talk out loud to myself. I was scared to have done so.
It was a bit reckless, but I grabbed the book and left back through the passageway. To be honest, everything was a blur. Like I had a singular purpose, and all I could think about was getting the book out of there. I quickly set up a workspace in my office. Before I knew it, I was gently opening the book’s first pages.
As a professor and researcher, I’ve seen my fair share of old texts, but this was different. The script was elegant yet so alien. A series of flowing characters that seemed to dance across the pages. I mean this in the most literal sense possible. It almost seemed as if the text itself was alive, flowing so seamlessly that it almost appeared to shift when you were not focused on it directly.
It seemed to have characteristics of several linguistic families. Still, it was stripped of any nuance as if it predated anything and everything. Almost as if it had been the inspiration. This had made its concepts easy to grasp, and I could piece the language together word by word, sentence by sentence. It was exhilarating, exciting, and new. Instead of a whip, I had lexicons and dictionaries, but I still felt like an action hero.
Months slipped by as I delved into the book. Teaching, once my passion, now felt like a mere obligation. Lectures and assignments became routine, starkly contrasting the mysterious language that consumed my nights.
In the sea of indifferent students, Sarah stood out. Her hunger for history and her sharp insights – were a rare spark in the monotony of it all. But even her spark often got lost in the shadows cast by my fixation. I am a rational person, and I knew I had become somewhat obsessed. This was important, something only I could do.
Days in the university blurred into a cycle of half-hearted lectures and recycled coursework.
I decided to set up a workspace at home as I sometimes worked late into the night. While I did not mind it the first few nights, I could not keep sleeping on the couch and avoided the basic necessities like a shower and clean clothes. I was a professor, after all.
I had also tried going back to the library within the library, but it was no longer there. According to the librarian, the passageway never existed, and a stone wall had always been there. Of course, I plan on investigating that later. Perhaps someone sealed it off. I am not sure, but that same evening, things began to change.
It has been a week since the first incident and three months since I discovered the book. I had just returned home, and I heard a voice.
‘Alex.’
I froze. I knew that voice. I had heard it before, familiar yet not.
“Hello?” I called out, but nothing. I reached into the coat closet by my front door and pulled out the umbrella. I remember glancing at it and rolling my eyes as I yelled, “I’m armed!”
Images of blood covering the white bathroom tiles of our old apartment and a gun that had barely slipped out of her lifeless hand flooded my mind. I closed my eyes and pushed the regrets down. While I am for people being able to protect themselves. After what happened to Lisa, I could not abide to have a gun in the house.
“Is anyone there? I am calling the cops!” I yelled out. No response. There would not be one, either. I searched the entire house. It was not very large, but there was nothing. No unlocked doors or windows, no one in a closet or under the bed. Just an empty house, me and… the book. I ran to my office and opened the metallic briefcase where I kept the book. A makeshift portable laboratory that could be checked as baggage.
It was there. Safely tucked away. I let out a sigh of relief. I am unsure if it was the sudden panic, stress, or disappointment of the missing passageway, but I was completely drained. I jumped in the shower real quick and had planned on just relaxing. The translations had been going well, and I was confident in my work, but I needed to just unwind that night. I had not even finished one episode of the show I was watching before falling asleep.
I only realized this because I woke up in the middle of the night. There was no noise or anything that would physically wake someone up. The faint glow of the TV screen with the ‘Are you still watching?’ dimly lit up the room. Still, my heart was racing. This sense of unease seemed to fill every part of my body. My whole body tingled with the sensation you would get when your leg fell asleep. I glanced at the clock- 3:17 AM. I lay there for a moment longer, trying to gather my thoughts and calm myself.
After a while, I reached for the remote and was about to click on the ‘yes’ button when I noticed something in the hall just a few feet from the doorway. It was subtle, but it moved. A figure, a shadow, and not one out of the corner of my eye. No, it was still there, partially hidden in the darkness, but definitely there.
I reached out slowly to grab my phone. Not to turn on my flashlight like some idiot. I did not need proof. I know someone was standing in my hall at three in the morning. I winced as the unlock noise clicked and quickly lowered the volume until it vibrated in my hand. Not once taking my eyes off the person just standing there.
I pushed the first number on the keypad to get a hold of emergency services when I heard it speak.
‘Alex.’
It was a hissing feminine tone that dragged out my name. The whisper echoing from the shadows caused me to jump back. Fumbling my phone. I quickly reached over to the lamp, grasping the knob as I yelled out, “Who the fu…!” but my words died on my lips the second the light switched on. The figure was gone.
Yes, I was startled and reacted like I had just had the worst jumpscare of my life, but I had kept my eyes on it, on her. It sounded female. She had been standing there and was gone the moment the light turned on. Only an empty hallway stood outside my room.
I could feel sweat bead down my face and back. I looked down at the slight movement on my lap only to see that it was my trembling hands clenching the blanket. I could feel my stomach turning, and I swallowed hard, trying to control my body.
I stayed there, unable to comprehend what had happened until the sun rose that morning. I had not even had the guts to reach for my phone, which had fallen to the floor. The thought of the shadows under my bed was enough to, well, it’s hard to admit this, but it scared me.
The whispers had become a relentless echo. I tried to rationalize them as mere products of stress or the fatigue of sleepless nights. Deep inside, however, I knew.
Their intrusion was pervasive, seeping into every aspect of my daily routine. At the university, their murmurs were constant. Even during mundane moments, they clung to me as a second shadow.
Sarah, the promising student I mentioned, invited me to lunch. A part of me couldn’t help but notice the extra enthusiasm in her eyes, perhaps a hint of a crush. As I was about to turn her down, she said, “It just looks like you could use a break.
“While I never like to blur the line between teacher and student with personal entanglements, Sarah was right. Maybe I have just been too much in my own head.
The restaurant buzzed with the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversations, a typical lunch hour. I sat across from Sarah, trying to focus on her words, but the whispers were there, weaving through the noise, an insidious undercurrent.
Sarah was animatedly talking about her latest theories on Mesopotamian trade routes. “And if we consider the recent findings at Ur, it could completely change our understanding of their commerce, don’t you think, Professor?”
I nodded, my mind half on her words, half lost in the fog of my own troubles. “Absolutely, Sarah. The implications are—”
Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she continued, “And the cuneiform tablets! They could be the key to—”
That’s when I heard it, a whisper that slithered through the clamor of the restaurant, caressing my ear. ‘Alex.’ My heart skipped a beat, my fork clattering against the plate.
“Professor Thorne? Are you okay?” Sarah’s voice was laced with concern.
“I… uh, need to use the restroom,” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.
She gave a small, nervous laugh. “Trying to escape me so soon, huh?” There was an awkward playfulness in her tone, a hint of flirtation that felt out of place.
“Right, I mean no. Excuse me.” I replied curtly, standing up abruptly and heading to the restroom.
In the restroom, I leaned against the sink’s cool tile, briefly closing my eyes. Focus, Alex. She’s just a student. A bright one, but that’s it.
I turned the faucet, letting the cold water run over my hands.
Just splash some water on your face. Relax. Enjoy the conversation.
As I looked up to the mirror, my breath caught in my throat. There, in the reflection, shadowy fingers curled around my shoulder, slipping away into nothingness as I spun around. The room was empty, but my heart pounded, and the weight of that hand remained on my shoulder.
What was I doing? I need to get out of here. Now. Was all I could think as the door flung open.
I straightened up, adjusting my clothes in a futile attempt to appear composed. The man glanced at me before brushing past me. I gave a customary nod and walked out. My thoughts in a whirlwind.
Returning to the table, Sarah eyed the dish in front of me. “You really should eat something, Professor. You look like you could use it.”
I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “The life of a researcher, I suppose. History waits for no one.”
“Come on, at least eat a little. You’re worrying me,” she insisted, her voice soft yet firm.
I realized it had been at least a couple of days since I had eaten. I relented, sitting back down. The whispers seemed to grow louder, more insistent.
Just ignore it.
It’s not real.
I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing against my chest. For a fleeting moment, I considered confiding in her. But as I opened my mouth, a chilling sensation crawled up my spine. Shadows gathered at the edge of my vision, a dark tide ready to engulf the room.
A faint yet unmistakable noise sounded from beneath our table. Inching closer and closer. My throat tightened, the words dying before they could form.
Scratch, tap.
It’s not real.
Tap, tap, scratch.
It’s not real.
Click, scratch, tap.
It’s not real.
All other noise seemed drowned out by an ear-popping silence pierced by whatever was crawling, dragging its way toward me. Something cold and firm scraped against my ankle.
I jolted upright, panic seizing me. “I… I have to go. Now.”
I threw some bills on the table, barely noticing Sarah’s startled expression.
“But, Professor Thorne—” Her voice was cut off as I rushed out of the restaurant, leaving behind a trail of confused glances and the whispers echoing mockingly in my ears.
The only respite I got was at home. I had gone to check the book, and the moment I opened the case, that feeling of pressure disappeared. The voice was silent.
As I said, it has been a week, and I have noticed that even though I carry the book everywhere, I only find peace when working on the translations. At least looking at the open pages seems to be enough. I am not sure what to do, even now. It’s like it knows that I am not working on the book.
As I write this, I can feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I have been away too long.
What have I become a part of?
Dec 13, 2023 11:12AM
I can feel it now, the whispers growing louder, more insistent. It’s like a chant, a mantra that’s burrowing into my brain, impossible to ignore. I’ve tried to tell myself it’s just fatigue, the stress of my discovery playing tricks on my mind. But deep down, I know it’s more than that. The book has awakened something. A presence latched onto me and my very thoughts.
Sarah has tried to reach out, but her concern is evident. But I can’t bring myself to drag her into this nightmare. I keep her at a distance for her own safety, even as the desire gnaws at me. To not be alone in this.
I’ve started to see the shadow woman more now. I’ve decided to call her Nyx as one of the passages in the book mentions a matron of the dark or shadows. Something of that nature.
There are other things now moving just at the edge of my vision. They do not speak like her and are fleeting, like dark whispers made form, darting away whenever I try to look directly at them. I’m a rational man, a scholar, but this… this is beyond my understanding. The shadows seem to be watching me, waiting for something. Wanting something.
It only worsens if I ignore them and more frequent if I am not working on the book.
Last night, the whispers grew so loud, so demanding, that I found myself wandering the streets at 3 AM, the book clutched tightly under my arm. The shadows followed me, dancing just out of reach of the streetlights. I could hear them whispering my name over and over, a relentless echo in the darkness.
Dec 14, 2023 4:19 AM
Last night, something changed. As I sat in my home office, poring over the book, I heard it again. “Alex.” But this time, it wasn’t just a whisper. It was a scream, a desperate cry that scraped at my spine and left me frozen in fear.
I looked up, and there she was. The shadow woman. Standing in the doorway, her form more defined than ever, her eyes - if you could call them that - fixed on me with an almost physical intensity.
I tried to speak, to ask her who she was, what she wanted, but the words wouldn’t come. We just stared at each other until she began screaming.
Then, as quickly as she appeared, she vanished, leaving me alone with the echoing scream still ringing in my ears. I don’t know who or what she is, but I’m confident now that she’s linked to the book, to the language I’ve been obsessively translating.
Dec 17, 2023 4:14 PM
I’ve hardly slept, my sleep filled with nightmares of shadowy figures closing in on me. Maybe a couple of hours in the last three days. I spend every waking moment pouring over its pages, trying to unravel its secrets. The language is mesmerizing, drawing me deeper with every word I translate.
Still, it has become an impossible task. I swear the words change. The pages are not the same from one moment to the next. The moment I flip the page or even glance away sometimes, when I look back, the characters are different.
Even worse, with each new phrase I decipher, the occurrences around me grow more intense. Objects in my house move on their own, doors creak open in the dead of night, and anything electrical seems to go in and out.
The house creaks and groans around me, walls seeming to breathe with a life of their own. Shadows twist and contort in the corners, keeping me in constant unease. The lights flicker, not just dimming but pulsing as if in rhythm with the whispers.
I’ve tried calling someone. But every time I dial, the phone produces a deafening static noise. It is accompanied by screams sometimes or, worse, mocking laughter.
There is no one here. School is out still, and I can’t think of anyone that would come check on me. I’m alone in this, tethered to a book that refuses to release its grip on me.
Dec 17, 2023 11:34 PM
In the dim light of my cluttered office, the world has narrowed to the confines of these four walls. Papers litter every surface, scrawled upon in a frenzied script that even I struggle to decipher. My hands shake uncontrollably, smearing ink across pages and skin alike. The ink stains my fingers so profoundly that they look bruised and tainted.
The dreams, those relentless visions given by Nyx, spill out onto these pages like chaos. I sketch feverishly, trying to capture every detail, every shadowed corner and whispered word. But the harder I try to pin them down, the more the shadows twist and turn.
The candlelight flickers, casting grotesque shapes that dance upon the walls, a macabre ballet accompanying my ceaseless writing. The flickering shadows seem to pulse with a life of their own, merging with the scribbled lines of text, blurring the boundary between the material and the imagined.
Every so often, I stop, listening intently to the oppressive silence, broken only by the scratching of my pen and the erratic beating of my own heart. I feel eyes upon me, unseen and just beyond the light’s reach. I dare not look up for fear of what I might see or what might look back.
The terror is palpable, a living entity that breathes down my neck, yet it’s this very fear that drives me to keep writing, to keep searching for answers.
12/19/2023 2:00 AM
The reflection in the mirror has become a stranger, gaunt and hollow-eyed. My hands tremble constantly, making even the simple act of holding a pen a struggle. I feel like I’m wasting away, skin clinging to bones. The book lies open on the desk, its pages a blur through my sleep-deprived eyes.
12/22/2023 6:22 PM
I don’t know how much longer I can endure this. The book is consuming me, its secrets seeping into my very soul. I’m afraid of what I might discover, of what might happen if I continue. But I can’t stop.
I can’t remember the last time I tasted anything but the stale air of this room. Water, at least, I remember to sip, though it tastes like ash in my mouth.
12/23/2023, 7:58 PM
The shadows in this house have grown bolder, more menacing. They slither along the walls and stretch across the floor, almost reaching for me. I can’t escape their gaze. They’re always there, lurking, whispering. I hear them in the creak of the floorboards, the rustling of the curtains, a constant murmuring just beyond the edge of understanding.
Every object in this house seems tainted and corrupted. The bookshelf leers at me with a twisted grin, the clock ticks out a dreadful countdown, and the windows… they no longer show the outside world, just a void, an abyss that only stares back. I find myself avoiding mirrors now. Fearing what I might see reflected back. Or worse, if the constant presence I feel watching over my shoulder might just be there.
I can’t shake this feeling that the house itself has come alive, an entity watching my every move.
Sometimes, I glimpse her, Nyx, in these shadows. Her eyes, if they can be called that, bore into my soul a mix of pity and scorn. She’s toying with me, a predator with its prey. And the worst part? I’m not sure if I want to escape her. There’s a part of me that yearns to understand, to dive deeper into this nightmare.
The whispers have become a constant, a relentless assault on my sanity. They call my name, taunt me, laugh. I find myself shouting back, challenging them, only to be met with more mocking laughter.
I’m trapped in a web of my own making, and the spiders are closing in.
12/24/2023 11:42PM
I find myself talking aloud to break the silence, but my voice sounds foreign and distant. I’m losing touch, not just with the world, but with myself. Everything is blurring together. I am not even sure I am awake right now. Is this one of the dreams?
I can’t remember the last time I ate something. I am sure there is nothing left to eat in the house, but I can not even go downstairs to check.
Something is moving down there. Something big.
Nyx should be here soon if this is a dream. She is not just an observer when I sleep. She whispers riddles and prophecies in a language that feels alien and intimately familiar. In my waking hours, I find myself scribbling down fragments of these dreams. Do they mean anything? I am not even sure I understand. No, I wish I didn’t understand.
I’m writing this as a record in case something happens to me. If you’re reading this and I’ve gone missing, know that it wasn’t by choice. The book… it has a will of its own. And I fear it’s leading me down a path I cannot return from.
Conversations are a memory. The phone lies untouched, a relic of a life that feels centuries away. I speak only to Nyx or perhaps the shadows themselves, but they offer no reply, only watching, waiting.
12/25/2023 43:14AR
What have I unleashed? What have I become a part of?
I must continue.
I have no choice. helpme The book needs.
She needs it.
I must.
I must
I miusrt
12/25/2023 2:15 PM
I understand now. There was no escape, no going back. She is all. Not just part of my world. She is my world, and I am part of her path. A stepping stone, a pebble.
The shadows no longer lurk. They are here, within me, consuming me, caressing me.
12/26/2023, 5:46 PM
The breakthrough is astounding. Here in my study, within the darkness, I feel as though I’m on the verge of uncovering the ultimate truth. This book is more than an artifact. It’s a gateway. Every character, every word pulses with a life force that resonates with mine.
Nyx, my guide. No, my savior in this labyrinth of ancient knowledge is ever-present. I once feared her, but how couldn’t a mere person not fear the eternal shadow. Now, I see her for what she truly is - a mother, a being of the most profound mysteries that I can only grovel to. She stands at the periphery of my vision, a comforting presence, guiding my hand.
The whispers that once unnerved me are now clear, articulate voices. They speak in a language transcending time, echoing certitudes that resonate deep within my soul. Tears of joy flow freely and stain my cheeks as they emit truths even now.
Sleep has become irrelevant. There’s no need for rest when you’re tapped into a wellspring of infinite knowledge. With its mundane needs, the physical world seems trivial compared to revelations granted to me.
The house is more than a structure. It’s a cocoon, nurturing my metamorphosis. The windows don’t show the trivial world outside. They reflect the vast expanse of my evolving consciousness.
The whispers grow louder, not with malice, but with encouragement. They celebrate my enlightenment, urging me forward on this path of discovery. I am not just a scholar or a translator. I scoff at my meager dreams of some foolish treasure hunter. I am a chosen vessel, a beacon for their ageless wisdom.
I stand on the brink of a profound revelation that will redefine existence. Envy me, for I have transcended the limitations of human understanding. Nyx has shown me the path to a higher existence. I walk it with open arms.
The shadows in the room move in sync with my thoughts as if they’re extensions of my will. Everything is interconnected, a symphony of cosmic significance.
I embrace my destiny as an explorer of the unknown, a herald of truth.
She is calling to me. I am almost finished. I am posting this account so all can prepare for her glory and be the first to welcome you to the New World.