The following are extracts from a Notebook found at Nannerth Ganol farm house, Rhayader, on 12 November 1924 supposedly belonging to a Dr Morgan DeQuincy of His Majesty's Armed Forces:

Friday, 11th November 1924:

I arrived with my good friend James Hyde at the designated meeting place. Late, I'm afraid, but that is quite usual for James' driving. One of the agency servants had waited behind for us. His name was Simpkins, a quiet chap, who seemed fairly amicable. We traversed the winding track to the  farm with the help of the candle like lamps on James' automobile. The house was large and old, possibly dating back to the Middle Ages. Once out of the cold, we were met by Burkins, the second agency servant. We briefly met Dr Fleischman, the famous investigator, before being shown to our room. After freshening up, we descended the stairs to make our acquaintance with the other guests. Dr Fleischman introduced us to Mr and Mrs Davenport who had travelled all the way from London . Newly wedded, they did not seem to part for longer than a moment for the next several hours. Mr Davenport claimed to work in the City, and his smart dress seemed to confirm this. Next we met Captain Poolcroft and Cpl. Corky Copperthwaite, both Serving in His Majesty's Army Air Corps. We were also introduced to Daniel Sullivan who was poking the fire absentmindedly. Mr Sullivan worked for a small-time English paper, "The Shropshire Echo", apparently as a sports correspondent. He habitually chain smoked all evening, so Mr Hyde and myself were in good company. A Mr Woolley introduced himself warmly. A man of the cloth, he had a passing interest in the supernatural, albeit somewhat of a sceptic.

Dr Fleischman began her lecture at 1Opm. The Doctor told us of her last investigation into the paranormal, and some of the terrifying tales that had befallen her. Looking around our group, I could see that some remained unconvinced. The Doctor went on to explain to us our purpose that night. We were to seal an area of the farmhouse off, and lie in wait for an apparition. Dr Fleischman showed us items of her ghost hunting kit and we were then handed round a newspaper clipping of the recent brutal slaying of a young lady from the nearby town of Rhayader.  She refuted comments that the incident was connected with the supposed haunting here.  At this point Simpkins and Burkins dished out the carrot soup. Halfway into dinner our appetites vanished  a blinding flash outside signified something untoward. We hurriedly left the dining table and donned our coats. Firearms were produced in haste. By our meagre torch light, the farm itself was daunting. We began to head away from the house, following a path through very boggy ground. Nothing could be seen. On passing the small cottage on the other side of the farm yard, someone suggested we take a look inside but the door was locked. Back at the house (dinner forgotten, unfortunately) we searched high and low. In an upstairs room we located a diary. Meeting up in the lounge, we studied the notebook which Captain Poolcroft read aloud. It dealt with a previous investigation by a James Harrington in 1879. It seemed that in medieval times some of the monks had been involved in witchcraft  particularly a Brother Anthony, who was burnt at the stake in 1377. After reading the notebook we indulged in some more tea. This abruptly came to an end when someone spotted a figure dressed in white carrying a flaming torch outside! We piled out of the house to take a closer look. Captain Poolcroft bravely ventured forward to take what was being held by the apparition.  Some held back in fear for the figure's face was completely featureless. He then vanished into the night, and, hearts thundering, we proceeded back into the house.

The parchment we'd recovered comprised of two maps, enclosed by a wax seal. The maps pinpointed the locations of the two Abbeys lying along the path of the old Monks' Trod. Shortly after this, Mr Hyde jumped back from the yard window exclaiming that he had spotted a black, snarling, fanged face that looked at him with malice. He alone had witnessed this  though the room was full  and I had some concerns for his mental well being until Simpkins came into the lounge shrieking. We tried to calm the poor chap, but he left abruptly after accusing Dr Fleischman of being a fraud. Dr Fleischman brought Simpkins back in after he had calmed down. We questioned him about what he saw and had seen, but he seemed unable recall anything. What was more alarming was the fact he was no longer showing any sign of distress classic examples of selective memory brought on by shock. It was decided that we would set up Dr Fleischman's ghost hunting traps. After strapping chairs to the doors and setting a bell strung cross the stairs, we all retired to bed where Mr Hyde and myself played Blackjack.

 (The handwriting at this point becomes very hurried looking)

2.10am. Gunfire! A commotion from downstairs woke myself and Mr Hyde. What was going on? We could hear, amid the gunshots, Burkins and Simpkin's voices raised in terror. Fearing for our safety (and unarmed), Mr Hyde and myself ran downstairs still dressing. We confronted Corky and Captain Poolcroft in the hall. It seemed the agency men had taken quite a scare when a black growling figure had attempted to come in through the front door. After their bullets had proved ineffective, Mr Simpkins reverted back to his agitated state. A small group of us cautiously made our way outside. Emanating from the cottage were ethereal ghostly wailings, with strange flashing smears of bright light. The commotion seemed to be coming from one particular upstairs room. Back at the house, all the guests had surfaced apart from Mr & Mrs Davenport (apparently Mr Davenport was a very heavy sleeper). It was generally decided that nothing constructive could be done until the morning. With that, Mr Hyde and myself headed back upstairs to our rooms, for an insecure few hours sleep...

...Oh, Lord! 3.20 am and an otherworldly voice seething with malice reverberated around the house spouting utterings of doom! We rushed blearily into the next room to be confronted by broiling mists rising from the stair well. We bolted downstairs, where again the other guests were gathering. Poor Corky Copperthwaite was at his wits end, and had proceeded downstairs dazed, and minus trousers. We listened to the ramblings issuing from upstairs. I managed to grasp a few words in Latin - "The Chemical Fountain of Truth". After a while the voice ceased, and the worst of the mist disappeared. We ventured up to the room to check. Everything in it seemed to have been untouched  by the spirit, but we remained cautious. Once again, it was decided to resume our attempt to rest. For myself and Mr Hyde, sleep did not come easily.

Saturday, 12 November 1924

9.25 am. I awoke later that morning to the comforting sound of breakfast being prepared downstairs. Perhaps whatever entity had entered this place had decided to leave? We breakfasted well (certain guests found it necessary to indulge in two breakfasts, and a large quantity of baked beans). Afterwards, we perused our clues. It was decided that it would be best to explore the two abbeys on the maps we had been given the previous night by our strange white shrouded visitor. We located Abbey Cwm-Hir, and headed out in two automobiles. The journey was fairly short and soon we stopped at the outskirts of the ruins. We ventured down to the site, and could plainly see, standing quite still, a white cowled figure who seemed to be awaiting us. We approached slowly and the figure began to glide to a place at the head of the ruins. Here it raised an arm to point to a spot on the ground. Its presence overwhelmed myself and the others, and I blacked out and remember no more for the next several minutes.

On returning my thoughts to some semblance of order, I was relieved when I realised the figure had departed. We searched the surrounding area extensively. Eventually Mr Woolley discovered a strange silver coloured ball, which seemed quite out of place amongst the desolate ruins. The ball seemed to match a sketch of something similar we had spotted on the White Monks map. If this was what the Monk had intended, then the picture of a holy cross on the map above the village church would also have some significance. We headed off to the church which was not far away, and generally in a better state of repair then the abbey. At the back of the church we were convinced we had spotted the Monk once more, hiding behind bushes. On cautiously approaching the figure it turned out to be no more than a white paper bag in the breeze. We began our search of the area, eventually turning up a queer little box, which, upon opening, contained that which we sought. After discovering our prize, we walked back through the village, stopping at the local pub, "The Happy Union", for an ale. We all decided it was a good time to enjoy our packed lunches (kindly prepared by Mr Simpkins and Mr Burkins), and headed off in the Automobiles to the nearby picnic site.

After lunch we continued on. A short while later we spotted a figure up on top of a steep embankment off to the right. We stopped abruptly and could make out distinctly the figure the White Monk! We parked off the road to investigate. The climb was arduous, but it seemed the Monk was pointing at something further into the trees. On approaching, it appeared that again I had ventured too close and it was too much for my mind to conceive. After some moments, I learned that other guests had been injured. On reaching the top of the embankment we saw the Monk further ahead. He was pointing at another cowled figure further on in the woods; another monk! This figure was dressed in brown, and as he approached nearer his intent did not seem pleasant. We fled before him, but I was not quick enough and  the familiar feeling of helpless terror swept over me, and memories are hazy. Returning to sanity, I spotted the Monk further down the muddy forest track. He was bellowing at the others. It seemed our party had been split in two. In terror, I hastened back down the steep embankment to the automobiles. Some of the others had already made it back. Though they were extremely wary of me as I had been touched by the Monks' staff they allowed me to examine the wounded. Mrs Davenport had taken a shot to the left shoulder. Mr Woolley had been shot in the thigh, just above his knee, but luckily the projectile had passed through. I bandaged both patients, and after gathering everyone together we embarked on the journey back to Nannerth Ganol.

Once back we discussed the afternoon' occurrences. Mr Sullivan was showing signs of distress because he could not locate his medicine. He frantically asked if anyone had seen it, then disappeared. As it got dark, Mr Burkins entertained us with his juggling and fire breathing. Later we conducted another small search for the key to the cottage, but to no avail. A while later, Mr Sullivan surfaced once more, in a very agitated state  he demanded that we all began searching for his medicine, otherwise we were doomed. We watched him, not knowing what to do, when he fell to the ground, seemingly in the grips of a seizure. We watched while a strange transformation came over his twitching form. After its passing he got up calmly and took a seat. We questioned him and to our amazement he claimed that Sullivan was no longer with us, and that he, an inhabiting spirit, was now in control of  Sullivan's body. It talked in riddles and, to us, meaningless sentences. It said that it originated from a place known as the Black Lodge, and that the Brown Monk was the Brother Anthony referred to in the journal we had discovered. It also told us that Mr Sullivan had been at the house in the months previous to our arrival, and had been conducting alchemical experiments. That is how he had opened a gate to the Black Lodge and allowed these malicious entities to roam the Earth. As we sat and talked in the room by the log fire, the atmosphere was chill, and what had been Sullivan gazed at us with a malicious glint of humour in its eyes. Some sort of understanding emerged as we talked. It seemed that to rid the place of these spirits we would need to close the gate, using some sort of  "Chemical Fountain of Truth!  The translation of the Latin chant that had echoed through the place the previous night. I questioned the entity regarding the key to the cottage. It suited its own inscrutable purpose that he found it for us. After several tense minutes of discussion, we decided to investigate whatever lay in the cottage. We traversed the yard and unlocked the door. The interior seemed fine, if a little musty. We spotted some alchemical equipment on a sideboard, and examined it more closely. Before we could proceed, the air was filled with demonic noises and ectoplasmic emanations from upstairs. A figure began to descend the staircase. In our panic, we managed to grab a couple of books before fleeing the cottage in horror. Congregating back at the house we kept a watch at the window for any sign. The books turned out to be a chemistry volume  and a journal. The journal seemed to have belonged to Mr Sullivan himself Strangely, Mr Sullivan had again disappeared.

Mr Woolley and Mrs Davenport perused the books at length while the rest of us awaited dinner. It seemed that we needed to somehow combine certain chemicals to close the gate. We had spotted chemicals at the cottage, but we were loathe to venture over there once again. The journal referred to a holy well in the nearby vicinity. Suddenly, we were under attack! Violent sounds of gun fire, tearing flesh and voices raised in horror came from the hall. We rushed to help, to be confronted by a shocked and fearful Simpkins, who informed us that Mr Davenport had been horribly murdered by Brother Anthony. Poor Mrs Davenport took the ghastly news quite bravely. In the midst of the noise and eldritch vapour Sullivan appeared again, looking ghostly white. Needful of some protection from the supernatural, we followed the path to where we had spotted the clear pool. Once there we filled a container with the liquid. A glint was apparent in the pool, and on closer inspection, Mr Burkins pulled out a silver chalice. The Brown Monk attacked once again. We were split up but eventually found our way back to the house. We bolted the door and studied further. Meanwhile, Mr Sullivan, or whoever had control over him, told Mrs Davenport that one of the guests was "not who they seemed".

Suddenly the room was lunged into darkness and in the gloom and Captain Poolcroft was horribly murdered. The assassin was unseen, but the room had been locked. The killer must be amongst us. I certified death and Simpkins and Burkins carted his corpse into the kitchen. We came to realise a trip back to the cottage would be necessary. A small group of us volunteered, and we ran briskly over there. We managed to get in quickly and load up a box of the equipment, before the figure inside could catch us, but Brother Anthony was also skulking around the house. He smashed through the door and with him was the fanged dog like creature. The screams of the damned shrieked through the air as spirits visible and invisible herded us like sheep to slaughter Those surviving were finally able to congregate in the upstairs end room. Sadly, Mr Woolley had been decapitated by the Monk, but strangely Captain Poolcroft had returned from the dead. In hindsight, it was perhaps a little imprudent to have given him a gun.

Once in the room we tried to decide how best to mix the chemicals. Strange gas was emanating from the next room. We discovered that amongst the chemicals we had found Mr Sullivan's medicine. We managed to trick him into drinking it, and get the old Mr Sullivan back (I don't think any of us were quite sure who was more insane...) Mr Sullivan however had developed acute amnesia regarding events of the past several years. Somewhere in the confusion of the next hours Mr Hyde shot Captain Poolcroft. It seemed some kind of shape shifting thing had got into his body.  

(The handwriting here is almost illegible and seems to have been written in a mood of great agitation)

It is only a matter of moments before a second direct attack is set upon us. Even now I hear the heavy rasping breath of the beast, and smell the odorous moldering robes of the blasphemous Monk. Why does Hyde smile so maliciously? Wait! A beating at the door! There is no escape! I will await my death here, whilst hoping beyond hope that the others find and stop the source of this foul menace.

The notebook ends quite suddenly at this point. There is blood on the page which tests prove to have been Dr Quincey's own.