Heather and I took your advice. We went outside, trying to find some sunlight. She was especially enthusiastic about it, saying how smart you all were to suggest this. In my opinion, though, it didn’t help. It was overcast but the light burned my eyes nonetheless, and afterwards I just felt exhausted. Heather said she felt rejuvenated though, so maybe there is something to it. We’ve made a point to go outside for a couple hours every day. At least every day we’re lucid.
Time lost for both of us, in increasingly longer chunks. It’s hard to type, too. My fingers don’t feel as nimble as they used to be. So if there are any spelling errors, I apologize.
Blake is back from the hospital, floating on painkillers and antibiotics. We’ve made him as comfortable as we can in the motel room. We’ve also made sure no one comes into our room to clean or anything. Not that those services have been offered. It’s a rundown, no-star motel with no business besides us. But the fact is I haven’t seen the receptionist since we checked in. No one is ever behind the desk in the lobby. Is service that bad or did something happen? I’m not sure if that’s something else to be guilty about.
As for why Blake was in the hospital, I’ll get to it. Chronological, remember? For now, let’s go back to that secret room in the school’s sub-basement.
I didn’t get a chance to read any of the Hadwell Bible when we were down in that chamber. Almost as soon as I grabbed it, Blake and I heard shuffling in the tunnel behind us, like someone walking with a pronounced limp. It pierced through the darkness, and for a long, silent moment Blake and I peered intently into the tunnel, unable to see jack shit. Then the door to the chamber slammed shut, sealing us inside.
I jumped away from the door so quickly that I knocked into the podium and sent it clattering to the ground, extinguishing the candles. Blake fumbled for his flashlight while I clutched the leather book tightly, not wanting to lose what turned out to be such an important document. I’d known it was significant as soon as I’d set eyes on it.
Blake was pushing at the door, pounding his fists into it so hard I’m surprised the wood didn’t splinter. But it was solid, and locked firmly from the outside. I peered through the dense darkness around me, panicking, sure that I was currently standing inside my tomb.
With a furious curse, Blake spun around and grabbed me, bringing me close. Huddled together, we felt safer. Something was scratching at the wood of the door. I heard a muffled snickering, almost like hissing. The thing was laughing at us.
I’m not sure how long we huddled in the darkness, listening to the thing behind the door scratch and giggle. We sat near the fallen podium, Blake swinging his light around at every noise. Scratching and shuffling seemed to come from every direction, like we were being approached on all sides, but we saw nothing. At one point I closed my eyes and put my head between my legs when I felt the urge to vomit. Blake and his flashlight moved away for a while, and I drifted into scattered thoughts, oscillating between resigned calm in the face of my demise and flashes of panic. Hours seemed to pass.
Then Blake’s hand was on my shoulder and he was dragging me to my feet saying he’d found a way out. He led me to the center tapestry behind the toppled podium and ripped it from the wall, his light revealing a hole in the stone there, just large enough for us to crawl through. I sobbed in relief and quickly followed him into the tunnel beyond. Neither of us cared where it would take us. We just wanted to get out of that fucking room.
The tunnel we entered was earthen and sloped upward at an increasing angle. We crawled as fast as we could, but before we were out of earshot of that room we heard the heavy wooden door slam open again. Blake pushed me ahead of him, desperately whispering “Go, go, go!” and I felt hysteria mounting as I heard the creature’s dragging, skittering footprints echo through the chamber. It was following us.
At some point the dirt beneath our hands and knees turned to rough stone, and the tunnel widened until we could almost stand up as long as we kept our backs bent. The creature behind us had made its way into the tunnel, scratching and scuffling at the dirt. Its ragged breath filled the passage. I could hear every clumsy movement, every awful catch of its breath in its throat. I hated that I couldn’t see it or even pause to direct the light on it to look.
It was when I had turned, craning to catch a glimpse of whatever was scrambling after us, that I hit the dead end. The wall had risen up ahead, abrupt and impenetrable, and I spent a long hysterical moment clinging to Blake, listening to the monster come closer and closer.
Then Blake shouted something at me, pushed me towards the wall and picked me up by the hips. “Grab on!” he demanded and I flailed my arms blindly before my hands caught the metal bars set into the wall. A ladder. The bottom rung was about five feet above the ground (about level with the top of my head) but once I climbed a few rungs Blake easily hoisted himself up. Adrenaline or simple brute strength, I didn’t know. Nor did it matter. We heard the creature right below us, still swallowed in the darkness. It gibbered insanely, just noises and wild grunts. Blake told me later that he felt its hand catch the hem of his jeans, but when he kicked at it his foot hadn’t connected with anything.
The ladder led to a heavy trapdoor that I’m sure, had I not been buzzing with adrenaline, I’d never have been able to push open. As it was, though, I got it open and crawled through it, collapsing onto cobblestone. Blake followed me and slammed the trapdoor closed, settling his entire weight on top of it. Breathing heavily, we looked around. We were outside, next to the school building, on a covered walkway that led down to the locked maintenance door we’d tried earlier. By some strange jump of time the sky was darkening, a bloated moon rising behind us.
A feeling of relief washed over me and I caught Blake’s eye. We hesitantly started laughing, in the way of those who have just come out of danger into relative safety, though soon the laughter took on a hysterical note. Blake rolled around on top of the trapdoor and I clutched my stomach, back against the wall. Somehow I was still holding the Hadwell Bible and that only made me laugh harder.
Then a thump came from under Blake, a fist on the underside of the metal hatch. We sobered quickly, resolving to get away from there. Gathering our backpacks we hurried out of the walkway, jumping over the old caution tape that had been strung up at the entrance. A light rain was falling, and I felt a distinct sense of freedom and freshness. I’d been so optimistic then that the book in my hands would change things, that we’d been chased because we’d found something that could be our enemies’ undoing. I’d been wrong. The answers inside, as you know, are not solutions to our problems.
But at the time I felt I’d already won, like that had been our last standoff. I decided to linger a bit, and took out my phone to take some pictures of the building. Blake took out his camera and snapped along. His actually came out. I think it’s because we weren’t very close to the mold.
Mine don't show much, but here are the only three that aren't blurry. Sorry about the cigarette in all of them, and the crappy quality. I needed a smoke and I'm clearly not much of a photographer.
Blake was snapping some pictures of the walkway while I went around the side of the building to take pictures of the fire escape we’d climbed. He didn’t say anything at the time, but I guess he was distracted by the same sounds of shuffling from the direction of the tunnel. He said he watched as something came into view, keeping to the shadows low to the ground, avoiding the industrial lights along the walkway. He took picture after picture as it stood up, looked at him for a long moment standing in the light of the moon, then climbed over the guardrails and disappeared into a small hole set high into the wall. Back into the school. I was furious that he hadn’t turned tail and run as soon as he’d seen it, but he’d said it was moving so slow and jerkily he felt sure he could outrun it.
Here are the pictures he took.
After snapping the last one, he made me get in the car. We arrived back at the motel, where Heather was waiting tensely. We’d been gone far longer than we intended.
I logged on to my email and found a message from the address rjtwlzbt@guerillamail.com. I’m familiar with GuerillaMail. I used it all the time in high school to sign up for sites I never wanted junkmail from. They give you random addresses that are temporary and disposable. The person who’d sent me the message did not want a response.
Here it is, copy n’ pasted.
Claire.
You probably won’t believe me, but it’s worth a shot. I was good friends with Alan, and Elizabeth can go fuck herself.
I’ve read all the posts about the mold. Like Alan, I didn’t buy it. Unlike Alan, I’m not an idiot. He was one of my best friends, but he was always naive. I’m an atheist but if God showed up on my doorstep tomorrow and told me to bow down I wouldn’t spend the next few weeks hedging my bets.
That’s why I bought a gun, and learned to use it. Don’t kid yourself. This can’t be cured. This thing needs people to possess, it needs bodies, by my reasoning, and bodies don’t work with holes in them. None of this following-me-around-watching-me-shit you pulled on Alan and Jess.
I don’t want to give the wrong idea about me, I’m not some badass who does this for a living. I was never very strong and I was never in a fight before this. I was a Computer Science major and worked in IT. Know what though? Coding isn’t much good when Cthulhu turns out to be real. The good news for me and you, Claire, is that being smart and careful is worth a lot more than being strong.
NoSleep is a double edged sword. The truth is that the others posting there is what kept me safe and up to date, so I can hardly begrudge doing the same for anyone else caught up in it. But remember that others can read what you write. People you might not want knowing all the information. So be careful. But I want to ask you to post this email as soon as you can. Because I want Elizabeth to know that I know.
I’m speaking to you now directly, Liz. I’m glad you posted again, as u/helpmenosleep and u/alanpwtf. I know you control both accounts, and I know how much you love fucking with innocent people for your own sick chuckles. I want you to know I’m coming for you, you bitch. I know you started this and there’s a special place in hell for betrayers. You’d like them to think you got caught up in all of this by accident, but that’s bullshit. You’re no victim. You’re the catalyst, the Vessel. Even before I moved to Illinois, when I was living in that town, surrounded by you and your followers, I made no secret of disliking you. It was a point of contention, because Alan and Jess loved you. They loved you and you betrayed them as soon as you had it in your power. And I will find you and I will destroy you for it, Elizabeth Hadwell. For everything you’ve done to my friends and that town and these new innocents.
Now back to you, Claire. I’m sorry you’re here, you sound like a nice girl, but this is one of those things you don’t get to walk away from. I tried, it doesn’t work. You seem on the ball, just keep your head down and be careful, and don’t try to help anyone who seems fucked because they probably are. Don’t listen to Z either, there’s no cure for this stuff, you read how that worked out for Alan. My advice, get a gasmask for when you’re exploring.
Do these people a favor and don’t share the town’s location like they asked. I lost track of everyone months ago, unfortunately, and your findings are my best lead. That laptop you found. I want to see it. I think it’s Liz’s. It might tell us more about how to destroy her. She was always secretive and jealous with it, but I think I can get past the lock screen. Can we meet up? Bring your group if that makes you feel safer. I’m not here to hurt you. I know promises aren’t worth much, but I promise you that. I want to help.
Text me. That Chicago number in your cell, that’s me. Let me know when we can meet. We can help each other. I know more about this town than I want to and you have the laptop. Please. I don’t know how to prove I’m trustworthy, so I won’t try. But what do wither of us have to lose at this point?
Talk to you soon, hopefully.
The Voyager
I got that email two weeks ago but didn’t post it before now, not knowing how long it would take me just to write out the accounts. Spoilers, we met with Clayton (that's the Voyager's real name). And I regret it, but maybe not for the reasons you think. This cult is dangerous and wily, and we need all the help we can get. But I’m not finished trying to fix this. Elizabeth Hadwell is the key, we all agree. The one Alan and Jess described as their best friend is the one in cahoots with the Entity. She betrayed them and got them killed, and now she’s after everyone she can get her hands on. Stopping her may stop this.
Now if only we could find her.
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Credits
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