It was around ten PM when we were all gathered in the lounge (well, except Ted, he was smoking in the hallway, and Pretty Boy Brad, who was upstairs resting his nerves) to pour over what clues we had found by retracing Elias' steps. It was quickly decided that we should all probably ask more about the members of the Carlyle Expedition, since the newspapers we collected didn't go into much detail about them. While I quietly read some of Erica's substantial collection of Archaeological tomes out of personal interest, the remainder of the group asked questions of Erica and Lt. Poole, which I found out later.
It was Ralph who asked Poole about... well, any possible criminals in the Expedition. He was on some kick, thinking maybe it wasn't those two Kenyans that killed them but someone in the group who was jealous. Well, Poole mentioned one in particular - a Jack Brady, who apparently had a few run-ins with the law in the past not to mention a murder accusation, which was thrown out of court due to lack of evidence. Apparently Brady was known to have tangled with the law and was considered rather dangerous, but Lt. Poole had never dealt with any of those cases or met the guy. Of the remainder of the Expedition, Lt. Poole had nothing but kind words to say. Sir Aubrey Penhew was a respected man who funded the expedition, known for his Egyptology work. Roger Carlyle had a few issues and in Poole's opinion had a screw loose, but had been on the straight and narrow except for one minor case of being a drunken frat boy and stealing a policeman's helmet as a bet. Dr. Huston was a respected and popular psychiatrist, especially for the rich and famous set. Hypatia Masters was as sweet and kind a woman as you could ever hope to meet, a dilettante who enjoyed travel. It was really only Brady that the law cared about, and only because he was violent.
As for Ted, he caught up with Erica during his smoke break and learned a different story from her. Apparently, her brother Roger had never quite been right in the head after the Carlyle family parents both died in a terrible automotive crash. The car caught fire, and there was nothing anyone could do to save them. Roger was an undergraduate at Harvard at the time in his Senior year, and he took it particularly hard when he found out. Poor lad didn't even walk for his diploma. After that, he became irresponsible, lazy, and lackadaisical about the family shipping business. Then he started having the dreams - the dreams of a dark figure coaxing him to become a God, of the dancing black woman he called (variously) Anastasia or M'Weru, and Erica called the "Negro Woman". Erica thought that speaking with Dr. Huston would help her poor brother, and when Dr. Huston suggested a sea voyage to clear the man's mind, she quickly agreed. She thought that perhaps, if Roger were allowed to see for himself how false his dreams and irrational his thoughts were, it would snap him out of it. She herself felt extremely guilty for ever suggesting it once she learned of her brother's death, and she was eager to learn answers as we went from all of us. Even more, her concern was renewed when she learned he might not be dead after all, to the point she has graciously offered to fund us if we'll go looking for more information on her brother where he traveled.
As for the other Expedition members, she yet again had a different story from Lt. Poole. Jack Brady was apparently a childhood friend of Roger's, the two were inseparable until Brady moved from New York. Last she heard, Brady was going to be joining Roger's crazy whirlwind tour of the world, and Erica supported it - who better to help her brother recover than his best childhood friend? Apparently Brady also had a hobby in photography, and was particularly skilled at it. Roger wanted documentation of the trip, so Brady ended up being the group photographer. Hypatia was Roger's girlfriend at the time, explaining her presence on the trip. Erica never liked the woman; she was an air-headed and none too bright little thing whom she felt wasn't the right fit for her brother, but Roger absolutely insisted she tag along. Despite her dislike of Hypatia, Erica conceded, figuring that having his lover along could help him recover, too. As for Sir Aubrey, Erica met him once when she went with the group to London to arrange funding for the trip. She found the man unpleasantly proud and vain, and a bit cold to boot. She never liked him personally, but she greatly respected his work in Egyptology and thought the Penhew Foundation was serving a great cultural service in preserving history.
It was around this time, after the gang correlated the rest of their information, I remembered the book I'd read - Selections d'Livre d'Ivon. There was a particular bit of information in there I'd been intrigued by - some sort of incantation to create a mist - and, well, as far-fetched as it was, I had to know if it was real. Don't even tell me you wouldn't have done the same. So, I crept up to the bathroom upstairs, shut and locked the door, and focused, chanting over and over.
"Nyghl thrk ghtm, R'lyeh thrk ghtm..."
Well wouldn't you know it? The damn thing worked! Cool dew coalesced on my hand, like condensation on a bottle of soda, and soon enough mist started spewing from my fingertips in five ribbons. It wasn't long before it filled the room with cold fog, blocking my vision even of my own hand. It was thick, pea soup fog, too - the real deal! Real magic... who could believe it? Certainly nobody else, so I had to keep it a secret. Nobody would believe me, and besides, it would make great cover for my treasure-hunting operation...
Well, until Brad decided he'd try to use the bathroom. I had to bluff my way out of that one. It almost worked, until I came back downstairs, and we all heard him yelling in extremely confused Bronx fast-talk.
"HEY WHAT THE HELL, THERE'S FOG IN HERE! WRONG! WRONG!"
I didn't tell a soul what happened, and let them all decide for themselves. Why tell you, dear reader? Because I know you're not a treasure hunter yourself, probably - and I know that even if you are, we won't cross paths.
-- Clayton Byrd, Treasure Hunter (January 28th, 1928)
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Hemlock writing. Now, I have no clue what Clayton wrote down, but I can guarantee he exaggerated it, whatever it was. Damn fool always has his head in the clouds, if you ask me. Besides, I know you won't mistrust anything a federal officer has to say, and believe me - I know you're not going to believe it at first.
I was stupid, decided to read that Life as a God book we found. Well let me tell you, it's full of some of the most depraved shit imaginable. This was some guy's diary? He had to have been crazy. He was sacrificing people for some "Pharaoh of Darkness" character, describing meeting the figure in harrowing detail. I don't mind telling you, it shook even me. I'm damn sure it would've even shook my warrior ancestors; this isn't something you read and forget easily. What grabbed me the most was the room he met this Pharaoh of Darkness in - a twisted throne room, with six black diamonds that blazed red when lit, and there in the onyx throne, the Pharaoh himself... I could almost envision it, and it made me feel watched. Like a wolf was creeping around outside in the shadows. I was paranoid enough by it, I elected to stay up and keep watch, just in case any more of those fuckers with the quail-like red headdress decided to show up. I couldn't sleep after what I read, and besides - those assholes owed me a new hand.
It was around midnight when the lights went out in the safe-house, and I knew by the single lamp I'd turned on suddenly cutting out. The shadows grew around me like a living thing, twining and crushing as they pressed inward. I felt watched, wind howling outside and everything dark. "Nothing there in the dark that isn't there in the light," I told myself, more to calm my nerves than out of truly believing it.
That is, until I heard the whispering.
Haaaaahhhh thk'gry lngh jhths gyrlcah...
Now, I thought it was a snake at first coming to seek warmth, plus I saw something thin and snakelike dart into the library, so I tracked that whispering as best I could, taking my nightstick for protection. It was only when I heard it whispering my name that I thought of pulling my gun.
C'mere, c'mere, c'mere, c'mere... Ralph... sssss...
Well, I wasn't about to take chances. I peeked around the shelf I'd crept up against, gun at the ready. Fear gripped me, and I tried to scare them off with a yell that I'd shoot if they weren't careful. Then I brought the flashlight up, and I realized it was indeed an intruder - but not a human one.
I immediately went to find the servants. Imagine my horror, then, when I found them all slaughtered, like on a battlefield. Not that I was disturbed by the gore, I'd seen worse, but then I knew that the creature in the library did it. It did this. It was going to do it to all of us if I wasn't careful. Then I heard it behind me.
Haaaahahahahaha... thkgrlngh ghry'lkn Nyarlathotep iaaaa...
I spun on my heels just in time to see it lunge at me, flashlight and gun both aimed at it, and I fired off both shots point blank. The bullets did next to nothing to it, however, glancing off its hardened scales and barely scratching its wing. It almost had me, I thought for sure I was a goner. Then the flashlight hit it, and it shrieked a pain-filled shriek in the most unholy way imaginable - like a wendigo or an owl-witch from legend - and it dove through the wall. When I say it dove through the wall, I mean it actually phased through the wall, like it was water or air, and vanished.
That was when everyone came running. I tried to explain, but nobody really believed me. How could they? They thought it some crazy Mohawk legend from my grandparents, and I scarcely believed it myself. I did tell them the power was out though, and both Clayton and Dr. Baker went to check the fuse box while I unsuccessfully convinced everyone to try and get themselves armed with the guns from upstairs.
Sure enough, it attacked Clayton and Dr. Baker when they went to fix the fuse box, and the rest of us spilled down the stairs to find the thing wedged halfway in the door, trying to kill the two of them. Then we heard a sickening crunch and Clayton screaming in pain, and we reacted immediately with gunshots. Now, I don't know what exactly happened because it all went so fast, but we all started shooting, and then we saw a big cloud of fog seep out of the doorway. Then it started screaming and hissing in rage, somehow unable to find them in the mist, and we presumed they had both hidden.
RRRGH, WHERE?! WHERE?! HISSSsssss...
Our flashlights trained on the beast at that moment as it contorted in rage, and then it shrieked in pain and gave up, diving through the floor smoothly just as I had seen it phase itself through the wall. Apparently, it had decided we were too tough a meal. It turns out Clayton had barely escaped with his forearm intact; it was snapped in half like a twig and the bone was sticking through several rake marks from the beast's teeth. Fucker's a damn tough customer if he can deal with pain like that. He was damned lucky to be alive, but he needed medical help - and now. While Dr. Baker splinted and patched Clayton's arm up for transport to the hospital, and I was validated, we argued what to do. Then we heard Brad scream upstairs, and panic hit us like a cold chill.
It was Ted who ran upstairs to check first, and I followed suit. Between him and I, we kicked Brad's door in and discovered what we'd feared most - no Brad, an open window, and a mess from a struggle. Shortly after, the lights flicked back on, and our spirits sank. Brad was gone, kidnapped by that thing - and, we realized, probably would be brought to the Bloody Tongue's lair to be murdered horribly. Lt. Poole confirmed his likely fate, but there was one good spark of news - most murders didn't happen until ritual nights, the night of the new moon. We had a few days' time until that happened, so Brad would likely still be alive if we were quick enough.
As luck would have it, Ted discovered a place, Ju-Ju House. Rumors about it swirled, supposedly shady people were seen near it. It was a tenuous link, but Lt. Poole knew where it was and wanted to help. He offered several of his best men, and we quickly made plans for a stakeout of the place.
That's where we are now, shaken, but about to head to the Ju-Ju House to stake things out. Not before we get Clayton a cast, of course. You ask me, I think it's dubious we'll find anything of note, but weirder things have happened. My bet is on one of the drunkards near the area. Always up to no good, them.
Hemlock, Over and Out.
-- Ralph Hemlock, Fed. Marshall of the United States of America (January 28th, 1928)