《The Journal of Jake Sanders》 Empty Graves and Unanswered Questions It¡¯s cold in the cemetery. The day is bright and sunny, but the wind makes it feel chill and inhospitable. The cool breeze cuts through Edward Sanders as he stands before his father¡¯s grave even as the sun warms his rich, dark umber skin. He pulls his leather jacket tighter around himself, suddenly wishing he had put on a pair of jeans this morning instead these dress pants made from the absolute thinnest material in existence. The wind curls up his pants like frozen vines crawling around his legs. If not for the jacket, he¡¯d be an ice cube by now. He isn¡¯t sure why he is even here. The grave is empty, just a headstone to mark where his father would have been buried had a body ever been recovered. The grave marker, which reads ¡°Jake Sanders, Devoted Father, Seeker of Truth,¡± sits on a plot Jake bought years before when he and his wife were still happily together. It is there more to appease the insurance company that required a death certificate before they would even consider paying out on his mother¡¯s claim. His parents may have been separated, but that didn¡¯t mean that Jake ever would have left them without. She was still waiting for the check, insurance companies running at a snail¡¯s pace and likely hoping that word of Jake¡¯s survival would mean they needn¡¯t pay out after all. The insurance company even balked over putting his father¡¯s preferred name on the stone. Jacob Sanders, who always preferred Jake and was willing to fight anyone who tried to use his full name, was an archaeologist of some note who constantly traversed the world. He would often be gone for months at a time. This proved hard on his marriage and led to Edward¡¯s mother asking for an amicable separation. However, Jake did, as the newly placed headstone read, remain a devoted father to his son. He always did whatever he could for Edward through the years. That¡¯s why Edward now stands here so confused. This time around, his father had disappeared without warning. Edward had gone to visit him for their regularly scheduled father/son dinner to find no one home. A week later, a telegram arrived that read simply: Gone to Antarctica for expedition on behalf of American Environmental Society. In touch soon. But Jake hadn¡¯t been in touch, he was completely incommunicado for months. The next thing Edward knew, he received a second telegram from someone named Jacob Whateley, the head of this ¡°AES,¡± that said only ¡°Regret to inform loss of expedition archaeologist Jacob Sanders while exploring in Antarctica. No body recovered.¡± Nothing more. Now Edward stands before an empty grave several months later just as confused. he casually speaks to the stone hoping for some kind of answer as he fiddles with one of the short twists on his head, a nervous condition he¡¯s had since high school. ¡°What happened to you, Dad?¡± Though unexpected, he does get an answer. Not from his father, of course, but from somewhere behind him. ¡°He died doing what he loved, uncovering mysteries. Loved it so much he apparently became one,¡± a familiar voice says behind him. Edward turns to see the man he has only ever known as ¡°Uncle T.¡± T is a man in his mid to late 30s, maybe early 40s, Edward didn¡¯t really know. He didn¡¯t think T is actually his uncle, just a close friend of his father. Still, he¡¯d always been around and Jake considered him family, so Edward did as well. ¡°Heard about Jake, nephew. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± He brushes a hand across his bald head, Edward isn¡¯t sure if he shaves it or comes by it naturally. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry I missed the memorial. I was out of town on... business...¡± T was always cagey about what he did for work, and Jake was tight-lipped about it whenever Edward asked. The most he would ever admit is that T was a man who could get things done and he¡¯d saved Jake¡¯s ass more than once in the field. The man carried himself with a military posture, so it was Edward¡¯s assumption that he worked in some covert capacity and wasn¡¯t allowed to admit what that entailed. ¡°How¡¯d you know I was here?¡± Edward asks in order to alleviate T¡¯s obvious discomfort in talking about work. ¡°Swung by your mama¡¯s. She said you were stopping by to see the new marker.¡± He nods his head towards the gravestone. Edward nods and turns back to his father¡¯s headstone. The two men stand there in silence for a moment before Edward finally speaks. ¡°It¡¯s weird, T. This man was dedicated to checking in with us on every job he ever went on. Even that time he was imprisoned in Tunisia for ¡®grave robbing,¡¯ remember?¡± Edward uses air quotes on the words grave robbing. ¡°He still found a way to get word to us.¡± T closes his eyes and turns his head up to the sun, allowing it to warm his sepia-toned skin as he thinks. ¡°Well, what was different this time around, I wonder.¡± ¡°Have you ever heard of a group called the American Environmental Society?¡± T allows his mind to travel through every organization he and his friend in the Straw Hat have ever interacted with over his many years before finally shaking his head. ¡°No. Never.¡± ¡°Neither have I. That¡¯s the only difference I can think of, really. He¡¯s never worked for these people before. I¡¯ve certainly never heard of them, and I¡¯ve been doing some research ever since I got that second telegram. Outside of a few newspaper articles in library archives, I can¡¯t find much. They barely even have any sort of web presence.¡± T shrugs. ¡°Some people don¡¯t really do all that social web stuff.¡± ¡°An environmental group in the 21st century without even a Facebook page? That¡¯s weird, unc. Most of these groups survive by online donations these days. They at least try to convince some well meaning college student to post for them without pay, but these guys? Nothing.¡± T drops his head in thought and pulls his jacket tight around him as another gust of wind cuts through the cemetery. ¡°Hmm... okay... So, what comes next?¡± ¡°Well, from the info I did find online, a simple business listing on a search engine, it looks like their local. Plus, I got this yesterday.¡± Edward pulls a telegram from his coat pocket and hands it to T. It reads ¡°Urgently need to discuss father¡¯s last job. Come to office at earliest convenience. Will be expecting you. Jacob Whateley, AES.¡± It includes an address downtown, one of the more historic buildings on Front Street. T passes the paper back to Edward and mumbles, ¡°AES?¡± Then to Edward he says, ¡°Didn¡¯t think anyone used telegrams anymore.¡± ¡°You and me both, T.¡± T clears his throat and reaches into his pocket, removing two very old, very large coins. He hands them to Edward and seeing the young man¡¯s confusion explains, ¡°This is something I do for all my fallen comrades. It¡¯s an old custom, but I think Jake of all people would appreciate the gesture.¡± Edward looks at the coins. He can¡¯t identify them, even though throughout his youth his dad had managed to teach him what every coin ever minted looked like. The metal feels odd to his fingers, but he can¡¯t quite figure out why. ¡°He did love a burial ritual. Don¡¯t you usually leave these on the eyes, though?¡± ¡°Yeah, but modern burial practices often make that impractical, so we adjust.¡± Edward nods and places them at the base of his father¡¯s gravestone, pushing them into the dirt enough that they aren¡¯t noticeable to anyone passing by hoping to snag a loved one¡¯s trinket. He stands and turns to T. ¡°Listen, nephew,¡± T says putting his hand on Edward¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Keep me informed on what this Whateley fella has to say. You¡¯ve got me curious now, and I told your dad that if anything ever happened to him that I¡¯d look after you and your mom, so I¡¯m in this now too.¡± The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. "I will, T. And thanks.¡± Edward returns the gesture with his free hand, the two men standing there in a moment of solidarity.
The American Environmental Society is situated in one of the older downtown buildings on Front Street. The building has been there long enough to earn an historical plaque. The plaque reads: Isaiah Black Building. Original location of the Antarctic Exploration Society, established 1852. Edward makes his way to the AES offices. He notices how oddly vacant it seems around him. While there are multiple office suites in this building, none of them seem to be occupied. This makes the interior darker than expected. As he walks, he only sees two men standing near each other in low, hushed conversation. He fails to notice the two eye him hard as he passes and steps into an office suite. Inside, there are numerous offices within, but they too appear to be currently empty. The only person he sees is a woman behind a centrally-placed desk. He walks up to the secretary and says, ¡°Edward Sanders to see Jacob Whateley. I believe he¡¯s expecting me.¡± The secretary, a beautiful woman with tan skin, richly green eyes, and dark hair tied up into a high, tight ponytail, smirks at him and nods. She stands from her desk and walks down a long hallway. Edward confusedly follows. He can¡¯t help but watch her butt sway side to side in the tight pencil skirt she wears that fits it tightly. He is so distracted by this that he fails to notice a lizard-like tongue dart from her mouth as she turns back to make sure he is following. He also fails to notice the low insect-like buzzing sound coming from somewhere. Arriving at an office door, she knocks. A rich baritone voice with a mild New England accent calls ¡°Enter¡± as Edward reads a sign that reads: Jacob Whateley: Founding President. The secretary opens the door and motions for Edward to enter. He does. Once he is across the threshold, she bows slightly and closes the door. Edward is so focused on looking into the office that he fails to notice the way her eyes blink through a second set of eyelids... or that they blink vertically. The office is dark. It sits in an interior part of the building, so has no windows. The carpet under Edward¡¯s feet feels rough under his shoes, like it hasn¡¯t been changed fr a very long time. There is a desk lamp providing the majority of the light in the room, as well as accent lighting along some of the shelves to the left. The office is filled with odd artifacts and what seems to be various specimens in jars. Edward steps up to one of them and sees it twitch slightly in its jar. He¡¯s sure this is just a trick of the light. He reaches out to touch one of the jars, only to stop as he hears: ¡°Mr. Sanders. It¡¯s an absolutely pleasure to meet you.¡± The voice comes from the far right corner of the office near a bookshelf. The man who can only be Jacob Whateley stands from a chair and closes the book he is holding. He places it on the shelf beside him and begins to walk forward. From the brief glimpse Edward catches in the dim light, the book appears to be old, it¡¯s leather-bound cover wrinkled with age, and it seems to the young man to have a face on it. Edward wonders how the man could read in such a dim light. Whateley meets Edward and takes his hand and shakes it. The man¡¯s hand is bony and feels a bit brittle as Edward grips it. He has long, brownish blonde hair of kinky curls pulled into a ponytail with a single shock of gray and thick glasses on his face. His skin is so pale that it almost seems grayish in the room¡¯s low light. He wears a suit jacket, but under it is a t-shirt. He wear this with jeans and what appears to be a pair of Birkenstocks with white socks. He looks like a hippie, basically. His t-shirt, from what Edward can read under the jacket, has a graphic image of the Earth and says something about saving the planet. ¡°Your father told me so much about you.¡± ¡°You knew him well?¡± ¡°Oh yes. We joked often about having the same first name.¡± Edward looks at him oddly as Whateley releases his grip and makes his way back behind his desk. He sits down while motioning Edward to sit in a chair across from him. ¡°Jacob,¡± Whateley continues grinning. ¡°Yes... of course.¡± Edward¡¯s left eyebrow raises in suspicion. ¡°We¡¯re all so sorry for your loss, Mr. Sanders. He was a good man and one of the best in his field. How is your dear mother holding up?¡± Edward puts his hand on the back of his neck and rubs it a little. ¡°I think more confused than anything. We both are, honestly. What was my father doing in Antarctica?¡± Whateley chuckles slightly. ¡°Well, as you know, the ice is melting, Mr. Sanders. Global warming has reached a critical mass and we are starting to see actual land under the ice down there. Meanwhile, the Russians are positively slavering to look for oil on the landmass. Edward nods. ¡°It¡¯s bad, or so I¡¯m told.¡± ¡°It is. I¡¯ve seen it for myself. We here at the American Environmental Society are trying to understand the grander ramifications of this catastrophe and, maybe figure out how to reverse it. For that, we need to investigate the land and find a reason to protect the land. ¡°And you needed an archaeologist?¡± ¡°Indeed. There have been expeditions to the area for over a hundred years, and there are remaining artifacts from each of those journeys into the frigid depths. Your father was a great help to us in that respect. He helped us learn more about those previous expeditions and the effect they had on the region.¡± Edward¡¯s face bunches up to one side, like the smell in the room has turned foul. ¡°Okay... weird. I would have thought a geologist or an ecologist would be more useful, but sure. I guess that makes sense. Why all the secrecy, though?¡± Whateley looks amusedly confused. ¡°Secrecy?¡± ¡°My dad never kept me in the dark, even when he was working for various governments and corporations that made him sign an NDA. He always found a way to tell me where he was and as much of what he was doing as he could without causing an international incident.¡± Whateley chuckles, a little darkly Edward thinks. ¡°Oh, no no no. No secrecy. We just approached him about this job with fairly little notice. He sent you a telegram.¡± He waves his hand dismissively at this. ¡°Yeah. One telegram. I usually got regular updates when my dad was away on a job. This time, nothing after that first telegram until the one that told me he had disappeared and was presumed dead.¡± Whateley clears his throat. ¡°Well, Mr. Sanders, it is not so simple to send messages in the frozen depths of Antarctica, I assure you.¡± Edward has a million responses to this, but instead he just narrows his eyes and says, ¡°Yeah. I guess.¡± Silence hangs in the air for a moment. A clock ticks on somewhere over to the left. A strange gurgle cuts through the office. To Edward it sounds like the plumbing is about to explode, or maybe Whateley is just ready for his lunch. Still, it seems to come from all around him. Also, he is sure he imagines it, but he thinks he hears the word ¡°tequila¡± or something like it whispered from outside the door. The hippie¡¯s tone becomes more serious, businesslike. ¡°Now, I¡¯m sure the daunting task of sorting through your father¡¯s papers and the like has fallen to you, the only son.¡± ¡°Yes...¡± Edward is instantly alert, his suspicions mounting. ¡°My mother wasn¡¯t really emotionally up to it.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Edward thinks he sees a slight dark grin flitter across Whateley¡¯s face. ¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind, I would consider it a great personal favor if you would keep an eye out for one of your father¡¯s journals. It wasn¡¯t amongst his belongings after his disappearance and we wondered if he may have sent it home for some reason.¡± The young man chooses his words carefully, something in the back of his head practically screaming at him to be cautious. ¡°I haven¡¯t found any new research journals in the paperwork that I¡¯ve been through already. Most of the old ones have been passed on to whatever group or university he was working for at the time. Protocol, I¡¯m told. I plan on continuing to sort through his office tonight or tomorrow. I¡¯ve been cleaning out his house for days. His office looks like a bomb has gone off in it, but I¡¯ll see what I can find.¡± This last part was bullshit. He didn¡¯t like this Jacob Whateley, didn¡¯t like his face, didn¡¯t like the way he constantly called him ¡°Mr. Sanders,¡± didn¡¯t like his tone, and something about this whole situation stinks to Edward. In fact, sitting here Edward starts to notice there is actually a foul odor in this office. It is musty, like mold and mushroom and dank, dark holes in the ground where things lay in wait. The strange oppressive atmosphere that has been building immediately lifts as Whateley turns on a thousand-watt smile, the one he probably turns on for donors that doesn¡¯t quite manage to reach his eyes, claps his hands together loudly, and stands quickly. ¡°Excellent! Thank you so much for coming in today, Mr. Sanders. I do hope we¡¯ll be hearing from you soon. The fate of the world may hang in the balance.¡± As Whateley says this, his secretary opens the door and ushers Edward out, closing the door behind him. As he walks back down the hall with her, he realizes that he didn¡¯t see Whateley press any button to summon the woman. How did she know when to open the door? Had she been waiting on the other side the whole time? While he ponders this, he just catches the eye of one of the two men who now pass him heading towards Whateley¡¯s office. They are the same two men he passed in the outer hallway when he arrived. He can¡¯t be sure, but he swears he hears one whisper ¡°That the guy?¡± as they walk by. Once he is back on the sidewalk outside the building, one of the things that struck him odd earlier returns to his mind. While walking to his car, he freezes mid-stride and speaks to himself. ¡°Jacob?¡± The Archaeology of One Mans Life Jake Sanders¡¯ home is one of a hundred cookie-cutter suburban homes built over the past fifteen years in and around Wilmington. This one is a three bedroom with a high vaulted ceiling in the middle for the living/dining room and a one car garage. Edward hasn¡¯t even begun to consider the horrors that await him in the garage, for now he is entirely focused on his father¡¯s study. Jake¡¯s study, a converted bedroom, looks like a hurricane had gathered centrally in the middle of the room and sent papers in every direction. Thinking back on his conversation with Mr. Whateley, Edward did suddenly wonder if someone else might have been here, but there was no evidence of forced entry. He has been working on sorting through his father¡¯s professional life for a week now, ever since the official death certificate came through and plans were made to sell the house to help cover the cost of the headstone while the insurance company drags their feet. Edward grabs the box he has finished putting together and walks out to the living/dining area heading for the dining table. As he passes the bathroom, the sound of running water comes through the closed door. He makes his way to the table, which is covered with various stacks of paper, an attempt to organize a life. He speaks loudly to be heard over the running water to whoever is in the bathroom. ¡°I can¡¯t believe Dad was so disorganized. He always used to fuss at me when my room was a mess.¡± He begins to pull out papers, reads each, then sorts it into its proper place at the table. The water in the bathroom turns off and the door opens with a squeak of the hinge. ¡°Do as I say, not as I do.¡± Edward turns back towards the bathroom with a confused look. ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± Andrea Carter, a beautiful, pleasantly plump blonde with shoulder length hair, walks from the bathroom while drying her hands on a hand towel. The pale skin of her hands looks a little pinkish where she has been washing them. ¡°It means that a parent can tell their child to do something even if the parent doesn¡¯t do it themselves.¡± ¡°In other words, hypocrisy.¡± ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s like when my dad used to scare me with the many dangers of smoking before turning around and lighting up another Camel.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Edward exhales in response as he stretches out his back. ¡°Or,¡± Andrea continues as she joins Edward at the table and puts her hand on his shoulder, ¡°your mom was the clean one in the family.¡± Edward nods. ¡°That makes more sense. You can eat off her kitchen floors, and I have. Anything important in that box you were sorting?¡± ¡°Gross. And nope, just tax stuff from the 70s and 80s. Oh, and some unidentified insect droppings.¡± She wipes her hands on the hand towel one more time to rid her hands of any phantom leavings. ¡°Also gross. Y¡¯know, I swear that man never threw anything away. Do you think he was trying to create one last archaeological expedition for me? Try one last time to show me what he did with his life by making me dig through it piece by piece?¡± He shakes his head to clear this deep thought. ¡°Anyway, thanks so much for helping me with all this. Sure you don¡¯t mind?¡± Andrea grins at him. If he¡¯d looked closely in her green eyes he would see the conflicting emotions. She¡¯d had feelings of more than friendship for him for a while now, but every time she considered telling him something major happened, like the death of a father, for instance. Instead of telling him any of this now, she simply shrugs and says, ¡°Not at all. This is kind of fun. It¡¯s a little like a treasure hunt!¡± ¡°Yeah! And instead of falling into any deadly booby traps, you just have to worry about a few paper cuts.¡± ¡°And bug poop.¡± Edward nods sympathetically. ¡°And bug poop.¡± They both pause, look at each other, and simultaneously say, ¡°Gross,¡± then start laughing. He continues to sort through the box he has just brought from the study when there is a sudden, sharp knocking at the front door. They both jump at the unexpected sound. Andrea looks up at him confused, but he just shrugs and walks to the door. On the other side stands a middle-aged white woman with long brown hair done up in a braid casually draped over one shoulder. She holds a box of mail in her arms. ¡°Excuse me, but are you Edward?¡± ¡°I am.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Miriam Thompson. I am... I was your father¡¯s neighbor.¡± He thinks for a moment then motions his head to the right. ¡°The house with the gnomes?¡± She smiles at him. ¡°Yes. That¡¯s the one. I, um... I used to look after this place and collect your dad¡¯s mail for him when he went on long trips.¡± She slightly shifts the box in her arms. ¡°Oh! That¡¯s right. I vaguely remember him telling me that a while back when I asked if I could do anything while he was away. I¡¯m so sorry nobody¡¯s been in touch with you.¡± ¡°Right,¡± She is clearly uncomfortable, not quite able to look Edward in the eye for some reason, instead focusing on his chin, his hair, the floor behind him. ¡°So... I was saving his mail for him this time as well, but then... of course...¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°And I¡¯ve been gathering and holding it all this time because I just assumed it was a really long trip and I hadn¡¯t heard anything from him telling me differently.¡± The lightbulb suddenly goes on in Edward¡¯s mind. ¡°Right! Right.¡± ¡°But then...¡± He nods. ¡°The obituary came out. The notice of the memorial.¡± "Exactly. I¡¯m so sorry for your loss.¡± ¡°Thank you. Were you there? I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t remember...¡± ¡°Oh. No. I was, um... I...¡± she clears her throat. ¡°Anyway, I noticed the lights on and the car in the drive and I thought...¡± She shuffles the box in her arms again awkwardly, then begins passing it to Edward. He takes it thankfully, noticing a large package right on top with a return address featuring the letters APO AP, American Post Office - American Pacific, along with zip code 96601-63010. Distractedly, he thanks her again and says goodbye. If she says anything in response, he doesn¡¯t hear it as he shuts the door and turns around. ¡°Jake¡¯s mail?¡± Andrea looks at the large box in Edward¡¯s arms. After a long, silent pause he finally looks up and says, ¡°Huh? Oh. Yeah.¡± He puts the box on the table, knocking over a high pile of old tax papers to the floor. He doesn¡¯t seem to notice, as his eyes never leave the large package that looks like it has come a very long way. ¡°So,¡± she broaches carefully as she glances at the large amount of papers now on the floor, ¡°that was awkward, huh?¡± He still doesn¡¯t look away. ¡°What was?¡± Andrea points to the door behind her. ¡°Meeting your dad¡¯s girlfriend.¡± This breaks the spell he appears to be under. He looks up at her wide-eyed. ¡°What!? She was his neighbor.¡± ¡°Who collected his mail and looked after his house when he was gone with no kind of payment?¡± She considers the next part before adding, ¡°And I¡¯m pretty sure the extra toothbrush in the guest bathroom is hers.¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°The what!?¡± ¡°It is sitting in a little cup with gnomes on it.¡± He looks both shocked and confused, trying to stutter out a response. ¡°Ed,¡± Andrea says softly, placing a hand on his arm as she walks up to him. ¡°That lady was in love with your dad. It was written all over her face.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t notice,¡± he says distractedly as his attention begins to turn back to the package in the cardboard box on the table. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised,¡± she sighs. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± she deflects, suddenly brightening. ¡°Oh, nothing.¡± She points to the box, seeing where his eyes are drawn. ¡°Anything interesting?¡± Edward has the package in one hand, his phone in the other. He checks something online. ¡°This is from McMurdo.¡± Seeing Andrea¡¯s confusion, Edward continues. ¡°It¡¯s a research station... in Antarctica...¡± He puts his phone away and tears open the package, pulling out a large leather bound journal overflowing with extra pages. It looks fit to explode. Something shifts inside and Edward has to drop the empty mailer in order to catch the pages threatening to fall out. Andrea¡¯s eyes go wild. ¡°Is that?¡± ¡°I do believe,¡± he says turning the hefty volume carefully in his hands, ¡°we have found my father¡¯s wayward journal.¡± ¡°Okay, that¡¯s great! So, now what? Hand it over to this Whateley guy?¡± He thinks about this for a moment. ¡°Here¡¯s the thing; when I met with him earlier, he called my dad ¡®Jacob.¡¯¡± She is confused. ¡°Well, that was his name, wasn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Yeah, legally, but he hated it. He was Jake to anyone he ever met. Do you remember anyone calling him ¡®Jacob?¡¯ Only my grandfather called him that, and he left that man as soon as he was old enough to walk under his own power.¡± ¡°So... what? Whateley lied about knowing your dad?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know... but I intend to find out, and this just might have the answers.¡± He pulls the journal to his chest and holds it there in an almost reverent fashion. An odd thrum rolls through him, starting in his chest and ending in his brain. He fights every impulse not to turn his eyes away from Andrea and back down to the book he holds as a distinct buzzing begins in his head. Andrea notices this, the way his eyes attempt to dart to the journal in his hands, but writes off her growing concern and instead looks down at the fallen paper and asks, ¡°Want me to help you clean up?¡± She turns her face back to Edward, who has lost the fight and has his eyes locked on the book. After a moment he shakes his head and finally says, ¡°Nah... we¡¯ll pick this up tomorrow night. Still a lot of paper to sort through.¡± At this he finally notices the pile of paper he knocked over earlier. Andrea now lets the concern show through as her brows knit together. ¡°You bet.¡± She plasters her best fake smile on and grabs her jacket from a nearby recliner. She begins making her way to the door, but stops when she notices he isn¡¯t following. ¡°Are we going?¡± Another long pause, then, ¡°Uh... no. No. I think I¡¯m going to hang around a little more, sort through some more of this.¡± ¡°We drove together,¡± she says. Distractedly, he replies, ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll sleep here tonight. The guest room is always made up for me. I¡¯ll call a cab or order a rideshare in the morning.¡± Now she is truly worried. ¡°Are you sure?¡± If he hear¡¯s her he doesn¡¯t acknowledge that he does. ¡°Okay, then.¡± She slowly makes her way through the front door. ¡°See you tomorrow?¡± He is silent for a very long time, then finally, ¡°Yeah. Tomorrow.¡± She exits Jake Sanders¡¯ house and lets the door close behind her. She stands there for a long while, looking down at Jake¡¯s door mat, a fading image of the secret door to the Mines of Moria with the words ¡°Speak Friend and Enter¡± in Elvish. She thinks back to when she helped Edward pick it out as a gift. A myriad of expressions begin to cross her face; from concern, to disappointment, to sadness, to loss, to fear, to anger, then finally to acceptance as she puts her jacket on and begins walking to her car with slumped shoulders. Events have been set in motion, and whatever happens next was likely always going to happen, and it feels vey much like she is suddenly swimming against a horrible riptide that might pull Edward under and possibly drown them both. Back inside Jake¡¯s house, Edward continues to stare at the journal. After a long, still moment with the incessant buzzing growing ever louder in his head, he finally notices that Andrea is gone and he has moved to his father¡¯s sofa. He isn¡¯t sure how long he¡¯s been sitting here as he doesn¡¯t remember moving. He considers going after her to say something before she drives away, but again he has no idea how long it has been since she left. He¡¯ll say something to her tomorrow he thinks as he begins to lay down on the couch in a comfortable reading position. He opens the overflowing book to the front and begins reading the journal of his father, Jacob ¡°Jake¡± Sanders.
The journal is written in a dead language, but one that Edward recognizes. It is one his father always used when he suspected someone he didn¡¯t trust was reading what he wrote. The entries begin by explaining how he was suddenly approached by the American Environmental Society to join an expedition to Antarctica. He writes that he politely refused, only to be suddenly and violently shanghaied and thrown into a car. A man enters his home and hastily packs for him. He is introduced to the head of this organization, Jacob Whateley, and is taken immediately to the airport where a private plane awaits to cart them all away. From there the journey begins. Whateley shares some details with Mr. Sanders, explaining that they are in pursuit of a lost mountain range in the frozen South that was first discovered by a group of scientists from Miskatonic University. He is told how that expedition ended and how many other similar treks were mounted with similar disastrous results. Due to the harsh environment and the dangers that abound, many had died or disappeared looking for this range, and many who did somehow survive came back stark raving mad. Once arriving in Antarctica, Jake explains how he is assigned to a team of AES scientists and sent out to find this seemingly impossible range of mountains. During their search, they stumble upon the remains of US Outpost 31, a long abandoned research station that appears to have suffered from some sort of explosion. The team seems less surprised by this find and they immediately begin to look for something. The only thing they find are the ashen remains of several bodies long ago burned. After days in the frozen depths, the team finds the oddest mountains that any of them have ever seen. Higher than the Himalayas according to the group¡¯s surveyor, it seems to reach towards the heavens with some form of inky black rock. Exploring ever closer, the team finds a series of corridors and structures, alien in design but clearly crafted by some ancient, intelligent hand. Here also Jake writes of strange sounds from within and the sudden disappearance of some members of his team. Here a collection of pages go missing. Edward sees the ragged edges where the pages were removed and wonders what this could have said. Picking up from these missing pages, the journal begins to explain how Jake has found markings of some alien origin deep within the tunnels. Excited, he begins to copy them down. From here the tone of Jake¡¯s writing takes a dramatic turn. The next pages are filled from top to bottom with pure nonsense. It¡¯s not a language, even if there is a hint of some kind of text. There are deep scratches of ink, a repetition of shapes and symbols that Edward cannot make sense of. Pages full of hashmarks, scratches that nearly rip through the page, designs that overlap and twist upon themselves. These symbols seem to have no purpose and Edward wonders why his father would copy them down, especially so haphazardly. Edward begins to lose focus the longer he tries to make sense of what he is seeing. He examines the nightmarish design finding at last incredibly detailed patterns that catch his eye on an ever smaller scale. There appear to be fractals that begin to draw him in and burn themselves into his brain. Edward realizes he has been bringing the book closer and closer, almost like he is trying to pull himself into the pages before catching himself and backing away, blinking. Those patterns seem to etch themselves onto the back of his eyelids, flashing into brilliance every time he blinks his eyes. It¡¯s like when headlights unexpectedly shine in your face from around a dark corner of road. He sets the journal down and glances at his phone, suddenly realizing he has no idea how long he has been laying here reading. The clock reads 3 a.m. He exhales as he returns the phone to the coffee table, then picks the journal back up and flips to the end looking for the most recent entry. As he does, a slip of paper tumbles out of the journal and drifts to the floor. He reaches a hand down and picks it up. On the slip is a single word: Kadath. He examines it for a moment, trying to place the word, then puts it onto the coffee table next to his phone. Returning to the journal he finds a hastily scrawled letter addressed to him from his father.
Dear Edward, My son, if this journal has found its way into your hands and you are reading this letter, I am sorry to sorry to say that I am probably dead. I am sending this to the house in hopes Miriam intercepts it before they can. If that¡¯s the case, then I¡¯[m sorry but they¡¯ll likely be after you now too after you now too. I know whaaaat theyr¡¯re after now and they cna¡¯t succeed. They kidnapped me and told me the craziest stories on our way here to this frozen wasteland, some of them I already had hhheaarrrrd beef bef before. And unfortunately, now I know they are true, horribly horribly horribly horribly horrrrefefef horribly true. Talk to Professor Kent. She can tell you more about these strange taless. Please don¡¯t delve too deep into my writings, but if you do, be careful with the patterns. They have ssssome ssssorrrrrtt of power. I¡¯ve done my best to destroy the originals donw in those caverns, but I know now these coppies are just as dangerous. They do things to your mind. I find myself losing tie, rep--- there, I just had a moment. It started affecting my writing first. It¡¯s too late for me, but hopefully brief exposure won¡¯t infect you as it has me. I¡¯m sorry me have to droop this burden in your lap, son, but I don¡¯t know who to trust. I think Toma is safe, but approach her cautiously. Please know that I will always love you and your mother. Tell her [scratched out line] Tell her I did the best I could and I wish I could have been there for her more. I¡¯m dropping this with a friend working out of McMurdo before I try to escape my capppptttorrs, but I don¡¯t like my chances. I love you. Be safe. Your father, Jake
Once he finishes reading the letter, Edward places the journal on the coffee table, wipes the beginning of tears starting to gather, sniffles, and closes his eyes. Deeper Into the Well Cold. It¡¯s so very cold. And white. There¡¯s nothing but white everywhere, as far as the eye can see, a vast expanse of blinding white snow. A cold wind blows through Edward¡¯s very core. How is he here? The buzzing that has been building in his head has now reached a deafening pitch. It is the only sound Edward hears. In the distance, a lone figure now stands. From this far off he sees nothing but the barest line of shadow, like a single drawn line of ink on a blank piece of white paper. FLASH! One of the alien symbols from his father¡¯s journal flashes in the white and suddenly the shadow is right before him. It is his father, Jake Sanders. Edward tries to speak, but only that incessant buzzing comes out. Jake opens his mouth to speak. FLASH! Another of the strange fractals flashes and father and son now stand before a massive mountain range. The buzzing is replaced by what sounds to Edward like millions of cicadas screaming in chorus. Milling around nearby stand massive 6 foot penguins just staring blankly ahead. Jake approaches one as his form begins to shift. FLASH! A third symbol and Jake¡¯s form is no longer human. It is horrifying and undefinable and already has one of the penguins halfway in its mammoth mouth chewing voraciously. FLASH! A fourth strange fractal pattern and Edward finds himself high above the mountain range just hanging in the air. Jake, now returned to his human form, hovers next to him and points at a spot just on the other side of the range. At first it appears to be dense shadow, until it begins to move. Edward thinks it is getting larger, but then he realizes that he is getting closer. He is falling forward at a rapid rate. The shambling darkness grows larger and larger until that is all there is. Now in total darkness, Edward feels a sudden lack of breath in his lungs. He is suffocating in the inky black and there is no escape. As panic begins to overtake him, he feels his mind starting to go. FLASH! A symbol appears in the darkness. FLASH! Another. FLASH! And another. FLASH! FLASH! Coming faster now. FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! The darkness continues filling with strange, arcane symbols in every direction, those curious unexplainable patterns from Jake Sanders¡¯ journal. FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! ¡°Flash! Ah-ah...¡± Edward¡¯s phone blasts the sound of Freddie Mercury¡¯s voice as his alarm song blares. He wakes in a cold sweat gasping for breath, the last of those symbols still burned into his retina, his racing heartbeat beginning to return to normal as he lays back down and his breathing slowly returns to normal. Unnoticed, his left hand taps out an odd series of pips on his thigh.
Early the next morning, earlier than he would have liked after a restless night of reading and nightmares, Edward finds himself outside the Anthropology department offices waiting for Toma Kent, head of the department and the femme presenting nonbinary professor he had been working under as a teaching assistant for the past year and a half. He hopes they might be able to provide some answers, especially after being named in his father¡¯s letter. He knows that Jake had worked with Toma in the past, and clearly before they identified as nonbinary considering the corrected mistakes in his letter, but why would he specifically tell Edward to come to them? After an indeterminate amount of time, and fading in and out of consciousness and back into that realm of dreams where inhuman voices whisper to him and bizarre, indecipherable fractal symbols flash across his vision, he finds himself being jostled awake by Professor Kent. They kneel before him in their full skirt, boots tucked under, and gently place their other hand on his face to check on him. ¡°Edward? Everything alright? You were growling.¡± Slightly mumbly and confused in his half sleep he responds, ¡°What? No,¡± he sighs. ¡°Nothing is alright. Do you have a few minutes before your first class? I need to show you something.¡± They stand while glancing at their watch and look down at Edward with concern. ¡°Of course. Come inside.¡± They reach a hand out to help him up off the floor before pulling their keys out of the large messenger bag on their shoulder and unlocking the door to the department offices. Edward, now standing, takes a moment to gather himself. He stretches his neck to the left, to the right, then shakes it to fully wake up. As he is stretching his midsection, he glances around and catches what he thinks might be a familiar, suspicious pair of faces huddled at the far corner of the hall as he picks up his bag and steps inside behind the professor. Once in Kent¡¯s office, the two sit on either side of their desk. There is a familiarity to this as both have often been in these same positions many times previously while working together, Edward grading papers while the professor plans out their next lecture. Toma can see immediately that something is very wrong with their assistant. He looks like he hasn¡¯t slept for days and it appears that he has picked up some form of physical tick around the head. He is flinching as if a fly is buzzing around his head and itching his arms like something is crawling under his skin. The scratch marks are visible, whitish chalk lines across his dark skin. If they didn¡¯t know him any better, they would swear he was in withdrawal from some kind of hardcore drug. Bug again, they know their assistant better than that. After taking a moment to collect himself, pulling the thumb he¡¯s been chewing on absentmindedly from his mouth, Edward reaches into his bag and pulls out his father¡¯s journal. Some of the loose pages threaten to spill back into the bag and he has to cup one hand under it to keep them in place. He passes it carefully to Kent and asks, ¡°Can you make head or tails of this, Professor?¡± He turns to a page filled with those curious markings that are now seared into his brain and appear on the back of his eyelids whenever he blinks. ¡°My father thought you might recognize some of them.¡± As they begin to examine them, he holds his hand over the page and cautions, ¡°Be careful. They appear to be... possessing.¡± They move the book closer to their side of the desk and glance over the open page before them. Their eyebrows furrow in concern and possible recognition. They turn the page and look through a good amount of the journal before asking, ¡°Where did you say this journal came from?¡± ¡°It was my father¡¯s.¡± ¡°I see. I¡¯m sorry I had to miss the memorial. As you know, I was out of town at a teaching conference. But, wait... how did you get this if it was with him when he went missing in Antarctica!?¡± ¡°He managed to get it to someone he knew at McMurdo Station, apparently. Sent it home to get it away from the people he was working for.¡± ¡°Who was he working for?¡± she queries. ¡°Something called the American Environmental Society. I don¡¯t think he was working with them willingly.¡± She leans back and thinks. ¡°That would explain some things about the sudden disappearance and lack of contact.¡± Edward nods in agreement. He gestures to the open journal page and tries to speak, but an odd croak is all that comes out instead. He clears his throat and tries again. ¡°Doooo... *ahem* do you have any idea what that odd writing in the journal is? It looks as if it was copied from something very old, but I¡¯ve never seen anything like it before.¡± He was playing a little coy, thinking about his father¡¯s final words in his letter about trust he adds, ¡°Why would my father tell me to ask you about all this?¡± Toma Kent takes their glasses off and considers their assistant for a moment. They sigh deeply as if making a difficult decision and lean forward placing their elbows on their desk and looking Edward directly in the eye. ¡°Unfortunately, I have. Are you familiar with Miskatonic University?¡± Edward thinks for a moment, then nods. ¡°Yes. My father mentioned it in the journal. Something about an earlier expedition to the spot he was taken. And I could swear I¡¯ve seen it mentioned somewhere else. It¡¯s up in New England, right?¡± After saying this, his whole body tenses up as every muscle in his body seizes at once. The image of a book under glass with one of the symbols from his visions on the cover flashes into his mind. Toma looks at him with concern and worry until he relaxes, then nods ¡°Yes. I spent a few years of undergrad studying there.¡± They point to a spot on the wall behind them where a diploma from Miskatonic sits in a gilded frame with their name on it. He nods, feeling a little stupid. ¡°Right,¡± he sighs. ¡°Ivy league?¡± They chuckle softly. ¡°Definitely not.¡± Edward shakes his head to clear it. ¡°Okay, but what does that have to do with my father and these weird symbols?¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. The professor leans further forward and places a hand on Jake Sanders¡¯ journal. ¡°Edward, some of the strange symbols in this journal are exactly like those in a prized text of absolute evil housed in the Miskatonic library currently under more protective glass than the Declaration of Independence after multiple attempts to steal it. From everything I saw in my time up there, anyone who would have anything to do with that book or anything like it cannot be working for the good of mankind.¡± Again, the book flashes unprompted into his head. A look of confusion and concern grows on Edward¡¯s face as he listens. ¡°Okay... so a few of the symbols are the same, but what were any of these groups looking for exactly?¡± Toma sits back in their chair, picks up their glasses and a cleaning cloth, and begins to wipe them as they speak. They clear their throat. ¡°Almodst a hundred years ago, a group of scientists from Miskatonic made a discovery in the Antarctic which cost many their lives and many more their sanity. The primary account of this trip is required reading for students now and includes a warning from one of the few survivors, Dyer, to abandon any future expeditions into the area. Some took his words to heart, while others thought him a fool and a crank. One thing is for sure, though, there are passages that describe the same horrible things found on that trip that are written of in that horrible book at Miskatonic and are repeated here in your father¡¯s journal. They could be what drove Dyer¡¯s fellow survivor, Danforth, insane.¡± Edward slowly sits back in his chair exasperated and blows out a breath. ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is that my father and his crew found the same thing those men found a hundred years ago and went mad?¡± Professor Kent puts their glasses back down on their desk, leans to one side, and pinches the bridge of their nose between their fingers. ¡°What I¡¯m saying, Edward, is that the people who pulled him into this extremely dangerous situation are likely already incredibly insane.¡± They point to Jake¡¯s journal and continues, ¡°They specifically went looking for that same horrible mountain range the men from Miskatonic stumbled onto all those years ago.¡± Their assistant¡¯s confusion begins to turn to anger as he shakes his head and says, ¡°So my father died for the whim of some psycho looking for some kind of ancient lost alien city at the bottom of the world? They drove him mad for their own insane purposes?¡± They cup their chin with their hand as they think. ¡°Jake being driven mad might have been an unfortunate side effect of entering the mountain tunnels. But these are the same people who contacted you about the journal?¡± They put their hand almost protectively over Jake¡¯s journal. ¡°Yeah. The AES. The American Environmental Society, led by a man named Wwwww *grr* Whateley.¡± Edward¡¯s eyes go wide as he realizes what he just did and clears his throat again while stretching out his neck. At the mention of the name Whateley, Toma Kent¡¯s right eyebrow twitches slightly in recognition, but Edward fails to notice this while dealing with his loss of vocal control and Kent becomes immediately more concerned with what has been happening to their assistant while the two speak. They clear their throat as well and lunge across the desk, grabbing Edward¡¯s hand in desperation and agitation. ¡°How much of this journal did you read, Edward?¡± ¡°I read through most of it last night. Why?¡± ¡°It¡¯s starting to affect you, You¡¯ve noticed, right?¡± Edward tries to deny it, but then he notices that his hand is fighting to get free of Professor Kent¡¯s and tapping out some asynchronous rhythm completely out of his control. He pulls the hand away, now in control, and shakes it to get rid of whatever has taken a brief hold. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s fine,¡± he says more for himself than anything. ¡°What can I do about it now, anyway?¡± ¡°Burn that,¡± the professor says pointing at his father¡¯s journal, ¡°and stay as far away from Whateley and this environmental group as you can.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t think their just simple hippy conservationists either, do you?¡± Kent gives him a withering look. ¡°Why would a bunch of hippies essentially kidnap an archaeologist and take him to Antarctica?¡± Edward sighs and nods. ¡°Okay. Sound point.¡± He leans back and begins to play with a random twist of his hair, an affectation from high school that usually meant he was thinking deeply. ¡°So, instead of trying to save the world... they¡¯re, what? Trying to destroy it?¡± Kent looks down at the journal, then back at Edward and exhales sharply while leaning back. ¡°I think in their own twisted way, they believe they are saving the world. If these people are who I think they are, or are connected, they¡¯ve been trying to unlock the terrible secrets of that text since its discovery.¡± Edward continues to play with his twists as he contemplates.
Hours later, Edward¡¯s location has changed but his position is the same, still pulling a twist of hair as he thinks. The Hawk¡¯s Nest Student Center is a beehive of activity at this time of day. The transition between morning and afternoon classes left most students and a few teachers free to simply find a way to kill time or grab a bite to eat. Edward has been using this time to give his friends the lowdown on everything currently happening so he can ask their opinions of his situation. That ended about ten minutes ago, and he has adopted his deep thought pose while they fully digest everything. Gathered are Andrea, who while already aware of the first part of her friend¡¯s curious adventure, is very worried about what Edward now tells her has happened since she left him last night. Next to her sits Dilworth K. Smith, a perpetual student a few years old than the rest of the assembled. He is large, approaching 300 pounds or so, with short dark hair, a beard, and pasty skin with a reddish undertone. He breathes heavily as he thinks about everything said so far. And finally, there is Chris Warren, a year or two older than Edward with shaggy brown hair and a large hookish nose that is currently buried into his phone. The muffled sounds of some sporting event playing. It is unclear if he is even listening to his friend¡¯s dilemma. Dilworth adjusts in his chair and pulls the tail of his brown plaid open button down shirt out from under him and asks, ¡°So, what are you going to do?¡± After another prolonged silence from him, Andrea places a gentle hand on Edward¡¯s arm to get his attention. As she does, she notices how his hand is twitching uncontrollably. ¡°Ed?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± He shakes himself out of his stupor and looks down at his hand, which stops twitching, then looks around before saying, ¡°I don¡¯t know yet.¡± Andrea pulls her hand away as if it has been burned. ¡°Don¡¯t know!?¡± she screams. She glances around and slightly lowers her voice. ¡°Why would you even stop to think about it? Burn the book and forget it just like Professor Kent said.¡± He focuses on Andrea. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple Whateley knows what happened to my father, and I want answers. I need answers. I¡¯m not ready to just forget about it.¡± He looks down at his left hand and flexes it, cracking a few joints as he does. ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t know if that would stop anything.¡± As his attention is on his left hand, both Andrea and Dilworth notice as his right hand counts out each word he says. Edward doesn¡¯t seem to notice that he is doing this. Andrea and Dilworth share a worried look. At this point, Chris takes a chance to glance away from his phone and the latest game he has put money on to add, ¡°Yeah. I say you figure out exactly what that book says and blow the whistle on this whole thing. Or ask this Whateley guy for a buttload of money, then burn it anyway.¡± Andrea and Dilworth look at Chris incredulously, then turn to one another and shake their heads as they realize he hasn¡¯t heard a word Edward just said. Edward also shakes his head, but it lasts a little longer than normal or natural, then looks at Chris frustratedly. ¡°Also not an option. Professor Kent seems to think this whole thing is connected to something bigger and even more dangerous.¡± ¡°More dangerous?¡± Andrea asks confusedly, wondering how it could possibly be more dangerous than it already is. Dilworth nervously chuckles a bit and whistles a spooky tune. ¡°They¡¯re coming to get you, Barbara.¡± Chris picks up on this and points behind Edward without looking up adding, ¡°Look, there comes one of them now!¡± Edward panics and whips his head around. Andrea shoots them both a hard look. ¡°This isn¡¯t a joke, you guys.¡± Dilworth puts his hands up in surrender and shrugs his shoulders, causing his neck to disappear almost completely. ¡°I understand that, but I deal with anxious situations with humor. If I didn¡¯t, I¡¯d be long dead from stress. I have a bad feeling about all this. I say burn the book or put it somewhere this Whateley guy will never find it.¡± Edward lets his friend¡¯s words sink in, then finally says, ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll do it when I get home tonight after class.¡± he glances around nervously. His neck twitches as he turns back to the group. Chris nods and glances up again. ¡°Good idea. Be done with it.¡± He then turns back to his very important, all encompassing game and yells, ¡°C¡¯mon you bums! Run out the clock!¡± He shakes his phone in agitation. At the mention of a clock, Edward looks at his phone and stands up abruptly. ¡°Shit. I have to get to class! I¡¯ll see y¡¯all later?¡± He grabs his bag and hikes it up onto his shoulder. Without looking away from his phone, face contorted in anger, Chris says, ¡°See you around, Ed.¡± ¡°Later on, man.¡± Dilworth adds with a wave and a slight look of concern on his face. Andrea shares Dilworth¡¯s look of concern and asks, ¡°I¡¯ll see you tonight, yeah?¡± Edward nods to her, his head continuing longer than he intends, turns, and leaves the Hawk¡¯s Nest. Once outside, he begins to make his way towards his next class, which involves crossing a parking lot. Suddenly, a dark van pulls up in front of him. The side panel flies open and several men jump out to grab Edward. One of the men forces what seems like a pillow case or a sack over his head. The last thing he sees before the darkness is the face of one of the men he recognized earlier outside Professor Kent¡¯s office. Multiple hands grab hold of him and force him into the van, tossing him roughly to the floor. He hears the van door swish shut behind him. Nearby, a young student also walking to class sees all this happen and starts recording a video on his phone the moment he hears the tires squeal when the van pulls up thinking he might catch a horrible accident. What he first assumes might turn into a hit and run now appears to be a fraternity prank or hazing ritual. As soon as the van is out of sight, he turns the phone¡¯s camera to himself and says, ¡°Fuckin¡¯ frat boys, am I right?¡± while shaking his head in disbelief. This video will go viral. Thousands of people will see it, but it will take about a month before anyone realizes what has actually been captured this day is the last verifiable visual appearance of Edward Sanders. Questions Asked, Questions Answered Darkness. There has been little conversation in the van since Edward was grabbed and tossed inside. The first thing the men did was toss that dirty sack over his head and tie his hands behind him, so he is trying to gauge where they are by relying on his sense of hearing. The men who grabbed him occasionally whisper to one another as they travel. The van moves quickly, weaving in and out of evening traffic. Based on the way Edward feels himself being tossed back and forth and thrust forward or backwards, he thinks they may be driving down Market Street towards downtown. He hears shuffling and what sounds to him like a bag being unzipped and emptied. ¡°Fucker bit me,¡± one of the men grumbles as what Edward can only assume are his school things hit the floor. Another shushes him. ¡°Goddamn right I did,¡± Edward thinks. ¡°And I¡¯d do a hell of a lot worse than that if you give me an opening.¡± Eventually, the van comes to a stop after making a short, sharp turn and Edward hears doors opening. He is grabbed and roughly pulled from the van floor. The men surround him closely and begin forcing him along a gravel lot. The sounds around him are muted by a loud fan, likely an industrial air conditioning unit hidden behind whatever building they are near. Edward thinks it is probably a back alley or one of the access lots for the many downtown buildings. He¡¯s pretty sure he knows where they¡¯re taking him. After a moment of being shoved forward over uneven ground, a door opens and the sound changes. It feels like they are now inside a building. Edward trips a bit at the transition while he is manhandled through a maze of hallways and doors before finally one last door is opened and the men push him forward hard. He stumbles into the room, tumbles to the floor, and slams hard into what feels very much like a pair of wooden chair legs. Whatever it is falls behind him. In the seeming silence of this room, he pulls himself up into a seated position with his hands still tied behind his back as a familiar voice says, ¡°Welcome back, Mr. Sanders.¡± Edwards feels one of Jacob Whateley¡¯s bony hands reach out and rip the sack from his head. A few twists are caught in his captors grasp and get yanked along with it. The young college student growls in pain with his eyes closed. After composing himself, he opens his eyes. They take some to to adjust and focus in the still dim light of Whateley¡¯s office. ¡°Jacob, old bean. I thought I smelled patchouli,¡± he sneers up at his tormentor. Whateley smirks and thrusts his open hand into Edward¡¯s face. ¡°The journal, Mr. Sanders!¡± Edward sighs and ignores Whateley¡¯s hand a he leans back on the fallen office chair as comfortably as he can with his hands tied behind his back. He tries to glance up at the man he despises, but the motion causes a brief bout of vertigo and a sudden spike of pain hits his brain. he grimaces and says, ¡°I know what you want it for. I¡¯ve bu... burned it.¡± Whateley exhales in exasperation. ¡°I truly hope, for your sake, that you are lying to me, Mr. Sanders.¡± He kneels over Edward and picks up the chair behind the young man, righting it with the seat facing forward. He motions for Edward¡¯s arm. Edward simply shrugs and grins smugly. ¡°Ask your men. they already searched me in the van. I¡¯m clean.¡± He lifts his arm as best he can away from his body. Whateley grabs it and pulls Edward up into the chair. It is a rough exchange, but Edward is glad to be off the floor. Jacob Whateley puts his face right in front of Edward¡¯s. The man¡¯s breath is rancid. Edward can¡¯t quite place the smell, but it is one of mold and decay... like cat food that¡¯s been left out too long. ¡°You do realize what you¡¯ve done, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Kept you and your little cult from ending the world by destroying whatever those crazy symbols my dad found for you before he managed to get away.¡± Edward involuntarily twitches as he mentions the symbols, several flash rapidly across his vision. He tries desperately to blink them away. Whateley notices this and grins, raising an eyebrow. ¡°So... you¡¯ve read it?¡± Edward loses a bit of the bravado he¡¯s been putting on to seem strong when he sees that grin. He shrugs, feeling the pull of his bound hands behind him. ¡°Yeah, I read it. So what?¡± ¡°That depends. How have you been dreaming?¡± ¡°Fiiiiiiiiiiiine,¡± Edward groans deeply in a lower pitch than he thought himself cable of, an almost animalistic bellowing. He begins to twitch inadvertently again, muscles spasming. he growls through it and forces it all to stop. Sweat has started to bead on his forehead. Whateley just chuckles. ¡°For a century I¡¯ve searched for the Elder Things written of in the book of Alhazred. The few remaining fools from that first Miskatonic expedition were too mad by the time I questioned them to tell me anything of value. I tried to get Danforth to tell me what he saw. He refused and spouted a bunch of disconnected nonsense. It was all various references from the book, yes, but useless to me. Now, thanks to your father, I¡¯m so close to my dream.¡± His look sours. ¡°Of course, he had to learn the truth and run off with his journal and the knowledge I so desperately need.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Edward looks at Whateley in confusion. ¡°A century? How is that even possible? You¡¯re practically the same age as my dad.¡± Whateley¡¯s dark smile returns. He casually walks over to the shelf Edward looked over the first time he was in this office. He reaches out and grabs one of the specimen jars, shaking it as he turns back towards Edward. The thing in the jar begins to shift. Edward has to keep his eyes from popping out of his head as it wiggles independently of Whateley¡¯s manipulations of the jar. The pale man chuckles. ¡°Yes. I do look extremely good for my age. What would you say if I told you I was over 150 years old?¡± He gently places the specimen jar with its wiggling resident back on the shelf. Edward shuffles in his seat trying to find a comfortable position, his hands beginning to tingle from the tightness of his bonds. ¡°I¡¯d say that you were overdue for a change of screws. Yours are obviously all loose.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll just see how crazy you think I sound in a minute.¡± He looks just over Edward¡¯s head. ¡°Spencer, if you wouldn¡¯t mind?¡± Edward glances to his left where Whateley is looking and sees one of his kidnappers standing there brandishing a blackjack. ¡°Ah shit. Not again.¡± Spencer grins malevolently down at him with nicotine-stained teeth before conking him on the head and knocking him cold. Darkness returns.
Edward awakes in a dank, dark room. Water is dripping somewhere, and there is a low buzzing and chittering all around him. The buzzing reminds him of the scream of the cicadas in the summer, but it isn¡¯t anywhere near as loud, and it¡¯s winter. He strains his eyes to see anything in the dark, noticing that the symbols from his dad¡¯s journal seem to be constantly moving across his vision like eye floaters on a bright, sunshiny day. The squeal of audio feedback cuts through the air as an old tinny speaker springs to life overhead and Jacob Whateley speaks. ¡°Mr. Sanders, I want to convince you that what we are doing is right. I would rather have you on our side than against us, after all. The things your father has helped us learn are absolutely incredible, even if he and that fool Dyer were too weak to stomach it.¡± A skittering comes from somewhere off to his left and the insect chittering gets louder. There is also a strange musical piping that sounds to Edward a little like... ¡°tequila?¡± Edward¡¯s mind begins to flash to the bizarre things in his dream last night and his arm begins to spasm violently. This is when he first realizes that his hands are no longer bound. The speaker squelches as Whateley continues his rant. ¡°We believe that life on this planet began from the experiments of the Elder Things, alien beings from another star that came to Earth to rule it as gods. They deserve our praise. Our worship. Our subservience.¡± Something large skitters past Edward, just brushing his leg as it goes. he shudders in revulsion as a deep, primal panic begins to set in. ¡°The things we have found have taught us so very much. The most important of which, and my primary goal in staging this expedition in the first place, was something that according to Dyer and Danforth even terrified the Elder Things. Imagine that. Somewhere beyond their mountain home exists an even more terrifying mountain range that houses some horrible mind-bending evil that scares even beings from another planet who once flew through space unaided by spacecraft. What could that horror be, I wonder? Well, I plan to find out. That¡¯s what your father found that scared him so much. And now, you¡¯ll help me finish what he started. ¡°I know you read your father¡¯s journal. I could read the symbols¡¯ effects on you as soon as you were tossed into my office. It will only get worse, I assure you. But, if you help us recover the missing parts of his research, find the secret of that horrible further range, we might be able to keep you from going completely, irretrievably mad and turning into a mass of writhing flesh. Your father might not be dead, but he probably wishes he was. Of course, he didn¡¯t manage to hide everything he discovered from us. Before he made his escape, he found something truly remarkable, a creation of those scientifically superior Elder Things from eons ago. Those remarkable beings designed a thing that can be... anything. There are some that believe these creatures are the origins of all life on Earth. Some believe that something in our DNA can be unlocked to allow us to return to this primal, malleable form.¡± Edward begins sweating profusely. As Whateley¡¯s ravings reach a fever pitch, the skittering and chittering get louder, closer. That musical piping that still sounds like ¡°tequila¡± gets a little clearer in the din. Flashes of strange visions assault his mind as Whateley¡¯s words bring up things Edward read in that damn journal or witnessed in his terrible dream. ¡°I¡¯m sure you remember my secretary, Miss Goff. Her name is a bit of an in-joke for us here at the AES. We named her Sha Goff, a name similar to what her kind is called in Alhazred¡¯s book. Like her predecessors, she serves us and aids our research by allowing us to observe her as she learns more about us. It¡¯s symbiotic. She allows us to test her abilities and see exactly what she and others of her kind are capable of. Allow me to introduce you to your father¡¯s greatest discovery.¡± Light fills the room as a flood light blazes to life. Edward shields his eyes and those arcane floaters burn brightly behind his eyelids. After rubbing them for a moment, he finally opens his eyes. For a moment he swears he sees a writhing, shifting mass of bubbling plastic, but that immediately coalesces to reveal the secretary he admired just yesterday. Now that he gets a really good look at her in this bright, blinding light, he can see that she is not quite as human as she seemed to him before. Her eyes are reptilian slits, the greenish tint spilling over the pupils and making the rest look yellowish. The left eye appears to have two pupils floating within. Her mouth is just little too wide to be considered normal and is filled with sharp, jagged teeth. Her gait is... off, seeming almost ape like. Her arms are long and thinner than they should be, and one leg is bent slightly outward for being just a bit longer than the other. He is reminded of something from the mind of Junji Ito. Taking in this disturbing visage, Edward¡¯s head begins to shudder and shake as his dream is made flesh before him. He feels something hot on his upper lip as his nose begins to bleed. For the first time, the secretary abomination speaks. It is the musical piping that Edward has been hearing. He realizes now that it is not ¡°tequila,¡± but more ¡°Te-ke-li-li.¡± ¡°Teke-li-li! Tekeli-li!¡± Miss Goff¡¯s form begins to shift into flowing liquid plastic just like the abominations in his head and he screams almost uncontrollably as his brain tries to process Miss Goff¡¯s true form. In the comfort of his office, Jacob Whateley grins as Edward Sanders¡¯ screams pour through the small speaker box on his desk mixed with Miss Goff¡¯s cries of ¡°Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!¡± He enjoys it for a moment before switching off the sound to the basement and leans back in his chair contentedly. Three Months Later Andrea Carter arrives at her apartment after a long day of classes. The walk from campus leaves her nothing but time to think about the last three months. That¡¯s how long it¡¯s been since anyone has seen or heard anything of Edward Sanders. Three months since the viral video that was first believed to be a weird and dangerous frat prank turned out to be the final time anyone saw Edward as a mysterious group of men in an unmarked van grabbed him and disappeared, somehow avoiding any and all traffic cameras around town. Three months since that day she asked him if she¡¯d see him that night; the last day they spoke. Three months since she¡¯d missed the chance to tell him how she really felt about him. She thinks about this as she walks to her mailbox to check her mail. The last three months have been rough. She tried to keep in touch with Edward¡¯s mother, making sure she was okay considering she had lost her estranged husband and her son within months of each other, but it was hard when her heart was breaking just as much. Fortunately for Mrs. Sanders, Edward¡¯s Uncle T was around to check in on her when Andrea couldn¡¯t find the strength to face her. Pulling her keys from her bag, she opens her mailbox to check the mail for the first time in days. Inside she finds a series of bills, several pieces of junk mail, a catalog from a company she¡¯s never heard of, and a large manila bubble mailer that she almost can¡¯t pull out of the small opening. Not expecting anything, she checks the return address and is surprised to see the name of Professor Toma Kent. She hasn¡¯t seen the professor since Edward¡¯s memorial and is suddenly very curious what sort of package they would be sending to the friend of their former assistant. Feeling the package, it feels to Andrea like it might be something... bookish? A spark of joyous excitement appears in her heart for the first time in a while. She rushes into her apartment and quickly closes the door behind her, juggling and nearly losing everything in her arms as she enters. She drops her bag on the floor, tosses the rest of the mail on her dining table, and immediately tears into the mailer. Inside the package she finds a typed letter with Professor Kent¡¯s letterhead, Mr. Sanders¡¯ journal, and an envelope with her name written in a very familiar handwriting. Near tears, her voice cracks as she squeaks out, ¡°Edward?¡± Andrea drops the rest to the table, immediately opens the envelope, and pulls out a piece of yellow lined paper torn from a legal pad. She unfolds it and reads:
Andrea, You¡¯re my best friend, and the last thing I want is to hurt you, but if you¡¯re reading this, then I¡¯m likely dead. I¡¯m sorry to be so blunt, but something is probably going to happen after I leave Professor Kent¡¯s office. It might just be my rising paranoia, as I think I¡¯ve started to see things, but I think I noticed a couple of Whateley¡¯s men standing in the hallway before I walked into the Anthropology office. After you left last night, I read the journal. I know now that was a mistake. It was full of insane symbols and maddening scribbles from my father and I realize now that it has done something to me. I¡¯m behaving... strangely, and I can only assume it will get worse. Professor Kent and I agree that Whateley CANNOT get his hands on this journal. It would be apocalyptically bad. They wanted me to burn it, and I still might if I get the chance, but I need time to think. Everything is so muddled right now. I¡¯m leaving it with Toma along with this letter and instructions to pass the journal to you if they feel unsafe. Not to get all Princess Leia on you, but you ARE my only hope, Obi Wan. If you ever feel like you¡¯re in danger because of this damn thing, or start to feel like you¡¯re being followed by strange individuals, get it to my Uncle T. He¡¯ll be expecting it if the professor does as I¡¯ve asked, and if you¡¯re reading this I can only assume they did. Be careful. Keep your head on a swivel. Trust no one. And most importantly, DON¡¯T READ IT! No matter how tempting it gets, no matter what it whispers to you, DO NOT READ THIS JOURNAL! Your Fr Best Friend Always, Edward Sanders P.S. I¡¯m sorry I never got to tell you, that I never made the time to say it, but I¡¯m in love with you. I wish I¡¯d said something sooner, but since this is probably my last chance, when else will I be able to say it? You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. I love you, Andrea Carter, and I hope I get the chance to tell you in person, because I would hate it if the only time you found out was after I was gone.
She¡¯s not sure when she started crying, but she finally notices when the first tears hit the page before her. She immediately blots it with her shirt and puts it down on the table in front of her, using the same shirt to then wipe her eyes. She looks at the journal before her and feels a low buzzing in her head. She begins to lean forward before catching herself, allowing anger at what this book has taken from her to recenter herself. Andrea instead grabs the typed letter from Professor Kent and begins reading.
Andrea, I¡¯m sorry to burden you with this, but Edward said you would understand after reading his letter. The day we spoke, the last day he was seen, we made this plan. He was a bit manic, likely an effect of what he read in his father¡¯s journal, but he was sure that Whateley¡¯s men were waiting outside my office and we both understood that they could not find the book on his person. So I would keep the journal, just in case he was right, and keep it safe for him. I hoped to never enact part two of our plan and send this on to you, but I made a huge mistake. My academic curiosity finally got the better of me and I read from the journal. Whatever was affecting Edward in my office that day has now begun affecting me as well. I¡¯m losing my tether to reality and fear for my sanity. I¡¯m afraid what I might do, so I¡¯m taking away any temptation I might fall to from Jake¡¯s journal. Again, I¡¯m so sorry for dropping this burden on you. Be careful. Be safe. And don¡¯t try to find me. I¡¯m compromised and can¡¯t be trusted. Trust no one. Toma Kent
Andrea puts the letter down and takes a deep breath. She leans forward, putting both hands on the table, then looks again at Jake Sanders¡¯ journal and thinks, occasionally glancing around her apartment. In a sudden burst of inspiration, she grabs an old t-shirt that has become a cleaning rag, wraps the journal up in it, grabs a gallon size freezer bag, puts the bundle inside, zips it closed, and sticks it in the back of her freezer. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re used to the cold,¡± she says to the journal as she closes the freezer door. She walks over to her couch and plops onto it exhaustedly. Her mind is awhirl with everything that has just happened. She thinks long and hard about destroying the damned book immediately, but realizes it is the last link she has to Edward. She just can¡¯t bring herself to do it. She also considers that, if the time comes, it might be a bargaining chip of some kind when Whateley and his men come for her. These are the thoughts that float through her mind as she lays down on her couch, curls up, and in a mix of fear, anger, and deep sadness, begins to release a number of pent up emotions from the last three months and weep.
Jacob Whateley sits comfortably at his desk within the American Environmental Society reading through some old papers, mostly incident reports from various Antarctic expeditions from over the years. Aside from Dyer¡¯s account of the Pabodie Expedition; there is the curious, disastrous, and mostly rejected report of what occurred at Big Magnet a few years later that led to the loss of most of its members to a supposed alien monstrosity capable of altering its appearance and read men¡¯s minds. That one was considered a sad case of isolation madness and commonly disbelieved, but not by Whateley. There is a similar Norwegian report full of supposition piecing together what likely happened at their Thule Station back in the ¡®80s. Finally, there is a write-up from some of his own men regarding what was found at the remains of U.S. Outpost #31, discovered while they aided Jake Sanders on his search for the fabled mountain range that kept Whateley¡¯s almost singular focus all these years. His phone rings. Without taking his eyes from the paper in his left hand, he picks up the phone receiver with his right and brings it to his ear. ¡°Speak.¡± The voice on the other end comes through as if it is being transferred through a tin can. ¡°Field Team Upsilon reporting, sir. The boy has managed to escape. It appears he vanished into the tunnels just like his father after squirreling away rations over time. The information he gave us seems to be inaccurate.¡± Whateley slams his left hand on his desk causing the paper it holds to wrinkle a bit. Something inside his hand cracks. He closes his eyes and breathes through clenched teeth. After taking a moment to compose himself again, he replies, ¡°It¡¯s possible he lied about burning the book. I¡¯m not even sure those sigils will burn.¡± He taps a button on his phone and speaks to whoever picks up, ¡°Sanders is gone.¡± He sighs at the response. ¡°No. The other one. One of his friends might have the journal. Keep an eye on them. Start with Kent and the girl.¡± He returns the phone to its cradle, leans back looking up at the ceiling, and says, ¡°These Sanders men are proving to be more trouble than they¡¯re worth.¡± He then focuses his attention back to his papers. He writes a few notes on a pad before him, then sets them aside. He picks up another, this one a copy of an old newspaper clipping about a theater tragedy from years ago that occurred over the bridge in the town of Cape Fear. During the opening night performance of a brand new play, the crowd apparently went mad and burned the place to the ground, with everyone still inside. He scratches a few notes on a notepad, including the title of the play, then moves on to the next clipping and starts to read again. END