The Memoirs of Martin Levine continues...
Again God was with us, for as we searched the grounds for other remains
of Mr Platchett we came across an object that matched exactly one of the totems
described in the fragment of transcript we had discovered.
This led us to wonder if the other totems may also be present, scattered
around the grounds, and perhaps if the masked men, bent on gaining access to the
house might not be cultists after them. This
theory prompted a frenzy of activity as, while the daylight rapidly faded from
the surrounding hills, we searched high and low for the remaining totems.
The fruit of our activity was the discovery of several other totems and a
fragment of script in a strange angular looking cipher.
Through great skill and no small quantity of luck (I think the Lord
smiled on us at this moment) a translation was arrived at that proclaimed this
strange transcript to be no less than half of the ritual that Mr Platchett had
conducted in
By now of course daylight had forsaken us and, as full night settled over
the house, we became most subdued, as we all had a feeling of anticipation, of
what, we did not know. When the
attack came, it was more horrific than any of our most hell spawned nightmares.
A terrible corpse like figure
assailed the house, smashing windows and
battering doors so fiercely they seemed ready to burst from their frames.
This ghastly apparition finally fought its way into the house and while
we were all huddled in the small drawing room discussing our next plan of
action, it fell upon us with merciless, unstoppable ferocity.
The thing burst through the door like Satan himself were driving it before him, flailing it's pale rotting arms, trying to rend the very flesh from any who were unfortunate enough to get too close. I was closest to the door, and as it burst into the room, to my shame, I ran from the house like the lowest coward. However my companions' small arms fire had no noticeable effect on it's dead looking flesh, and they fled the house as quickly as I. Fortunately a few brave souls took Mr Breverton's sword (which he uses for brush beating while hunting) and cornering the terrible monster managed to reduce it to rotting offal. However in the struggle, Mr Breverton himself was mortally wounded and despite our most valiant efforts, passed from this world soon thereafter. If only I could take courage in the knowledge that his immortal soul had fled to Heaven but alas, the dark forces at work that night had more heinous and insidious plans for him.
Following the confrontation, the survivors returned exclaiming that the
creature carried a totem in it's one remaining hand. This 
animated corpse was Mr
Platchett! We carried Mr Breverton's body into the drawing room where I laid him in
state and performed last rights. I
knew that an exorcism of the house would only be possible from outside, but the
events of the day so far dissuaded me from braving the darkness, with prowling
cultists and terrible unholy creatures. We
continued to search the house and surroundings for the remaining totems.
Finding several more, we seemed on the verge of being able to repeat the
ritual and thereby banish the foul spirit from the world.
While we were fortifying the house, the body of Mr Breverton started to
move, completely surprising Sergeant Lindsey.
The foul creature dispatched the Sergeant with such speed,
those of us who witnessed the event were too stunned to prevent it from
dragging the body from the house. The creature that was Breverton, joined soon after by the body of the
Sergeant, then repeatedly attacked the house. Shockingly, they were aided by cultists who seemed unperturbed by the
nature of their allies. We managed
to ward off the attacks but with diminishing success.
Almost every time the hell-spawned monsters were engaged, one or more of
our party was either killed, or wounded, to die in agony from some relentless
infection in the wound. Invariably,
those afflicted succumbed to their injuries and joined the ranks of these
"undead".
Then, more startling still, Mr Talrayn appeared, 'though he seemed to
have undergone some terrible transformation.
His skin,
the hue of darkest jet, and his hands glowing with some unholy
fire, lit the night. He was the monster summoned by the ritual, and he had been
within our midst all the time! Talrayn
then led his cohort of cultists and undead creatures in a terrible joint attack
of the house. One of the zombies
managed to fight it's way into the house, wreaking havoc and causing panic in
it's claim for more of our number for it's foul Master.
By this time we had recovered the final "Master totem", within
which we had discovered the other half of the ritual written in the same strange
cipher. Mr Mullholand, Mr Masters
and myself spent a most harrowing twenty minutes deciphering the thing, while
all around us, our remaining companions valiantly fought off our infernal
assailants. When we eventually
arrived at a translation, it became apparent that our most dangerous ordeal was
yet to come. With cultists and other
fouler things at large around the house, we would have to construct a pentacle
of sand, and standing at its cardinal points (with a totem each), recite the
ritual without interruption.
Steeling ourselves for a vicious fight, we ventured outside for what
might be the final time. I had only
just enough time to mark out the pentacle, when we were driven back into the
house. Armed with a totem each,
pistols, and a sword, we left the house once more. The terrible sight of Talrayn, hands aflame, atop the small rise, a mere
hundred yards away, struck terror into all our hearts. As I began to recite the lengthy transcript of the ritual,
Talrayn and his terrible army began to slowly advance on
our position.
The victory in his eyes soon became open terror as he realised the nature
of our chanting. My companions
bravely held the forces of darkness at bay, not one of them deserting their
post, as Talrayn was drawn, screaming with fear and rage inexorably toward the
centre of the pentacle. As my chant
reached it's climax, Talrayn was almost flying through the air, as if some
unseen hand pulled him to the heart of the ritual's power.
As the final word was torn from my lungs in a triumphant cry, Talrayn
gave an even greater scream of anguish as the forces in the pentacle twisted him
into a cloud of dissipating red vapour. Immediately
the zombies fell to earth, once more lifeless flesh, and the last cultists were
dispatched post haste.
The Lord had smiled upon our efforts at last, and the pall of evil was lifted from the house. I should take some comfort that our deeds that awful night were successful. However the death toll of my friends and companions, and the terrible drain on my faith, have stripped me of the ability to feel victorious. Much to my dismay I find myself doubting the omnipotence of the Lord when I have seen with my own eyes the unstoppable power of such unholy beings. I have questioned my suitability for, and devotion to, the bringing of the word of God to the masses. How can I advise people how best to find God when I Have lost Him myself? This is an enigma for which the answer eludes me, and I think, in light of the last few days, will elude me for the rest of my life.
May your faith never falter,
