Journal of Gerard Covings III

Exerpt; Journal of Gerard Covings III

November 15th – My thoughts are consumed with my son Derrick and his illness. I have lived in Arkham for all of my 62 years, but it is not the town’s dark mysteries that preoccupy me, but rather the mystery of my son’s condition. For the past ten years, he has been locked away in the Arkham Sanitarium, where he receives the care he needs.

It all started when he awoke from sleep speaking in a voice not his own, stuttering about other dimensions and otherworldly beings. For days, he spoke this nonsense until it became apparent he needed help. I made the difficult decision to have him institutionalized, and since then, I have spent years researching and investigating his condition, trying to make sense of what he experienced.

Through my visits to the sanitarium, I have learned that Derrick’s illness is not just a mere mental disorder. His words about the Great Old Ones and their lesser children have a certain weight to them, a terrifying significance that cannot be dismissed as mere delusion. I am haunted by the possibility that there is some truth to what he says, and that the cosmic horror he speaks of is real.

My wife Eileen left us after Derrick was institutionalized, unable to bear the weight of our family’s tragedy and the darkness that surrounds our lives in Arkham. I still love her, but I understand her reasons for leaving. She never accepted the darkness intertwined throughout Arkham, and she could not forgive me for not fixing our son.

As I sit alone in my study, surrounded by books and notes on the paranormal and the occult, I can only wonder what horrors my son has seen, and what horrors lie ahead for us all.

November 19th – Today, my world has turned upside down. A friend of mine, Jacob Tines, has sent me a package containing fragments of his research. My friend has been investigating a case of eldritch proportions, one that has unearthed secrets that should have remained buried in the accursed soil of this godforsaken town.

As I read Jacob’s notes, a shudder runs down my spine. He speaks of an island, an ancient cult, and their twisted rituals that defy comprehension. He speaks of the stars and of beings from beyond our reality that seek to reclaim what they believe is rightfully theirs. And then there are the pictures of an island, a place of death and decay, where a long buried temple is rumored.

But it is not just the images that chill me to the bone; it is what they imply. The notes speak of a blood cult, the Order of Hood, that has infiltrated the local government. They speak of a necromancer, Talan Demur, who has taken control of the cult and now rules it with an iron fist. And they speak of a nexus of evil, a convergence of forces that bode ill for this town and perhaps the entire world.

I cannot help but feel a sense of paranoia creeping up on me. How deep does this conspiracy go? Who can I trust? The police? The government? The very institutions that are supposed to protect us from the horrors that lurk in the shadows? Or are they in on it, too?

I have spent my life researching the forbidden knowledge of the occult, but now I realize that there are things beyond my comprehension. Things that lurk in the darkness, waiting to consume us all. My son’s illness, his ranting of otherworldly beings, suddenly seems less delusional and more prophetic. I fear for him, for myself, and for all of Arkham.

As I write these words, the rain beats against my window, and the wind howls like the wailing of the damned. I feel as though I am but a small speck of dust in the vast, uncaring universe. And yet, I must continue my investigation. I must uncover the truth, no matter the cost. For the sake of my son, for the sake of Arkham, and for the sake of humanity itself.

November 21st – I have spent the last day and night pouring over ancient tomes, delving deep into the abyss of the occult. Blood cults, necromancy, and the whispers of unspeakable entities have consumed me. I searched for any mention of the enigmatic Order of Hood or their dark master, Talan Demur.

Despite my tireless efforts, I have found no reference to the Order or any sinister rituals coinciding with the ominous November dates. However, it was not until my gaze fell upon the medallion I found at the edge of the Miskatonic River that the puzzle began to unravel.

The medallion was forged in pure gold and bore a sharp pentagram at its center, etched with a symbol of a creature whose likeness I could not comprehend. Through a magnifying glass, I examined the intricate image in full. My heart quickened as I beheld the visage of an abomination – a monstrosity with a face like that of an octopus, dripping with writhing tentacles, human-like appendages tipped with jagged claws, tattered wings adorning its immense, otherworldly form.

My son’s voice echoed in my mind, the words of his delirium becoming all too real. For I have discovered that the creature depicted on the medallion is none other than the Great Old One, Cthulhu – a being worshipped by those who dare to court the eldritch powers beyond human comprehension.

In my studies, I have learned of the Great Old Ones, ancient deities from beyond the veil of space, imprisoned in a never-ending slumber. Their names are spoken only in whispers by those who know of their existence: Cthulhu, Azathoth, Xexanoth, Yig, and Yog-Sothoth. They are often referenced in the dreaded Necronomicon, penned by the “Mad Arab” Abdul Alhazred. It is said that should a mortal gaze upon these entities, their sanity would be shattered beyond repair.

With the revelation of Cthulhu’s image on the medallion, my mind races with the horrifying possibility of what the Order of Hood may have planned. Through the vile practice of necromancy, they seek to raise an army of the undead from their graves – hundreds of thousands of souls – all to be sacrificed in the ritual awakening of Cthulhu.

November 23rd – As I pen these words, my paranoia grows, for I am certain that I am being watched by those who would keep their dark plans hidden. I fear for my safety, but I must act swiftly if I am to prevent the horrors that await Arkham. I must enlist the help of those who seek out the paranormal and the inexplicable, for they may be our only hope in stopping the Order of Hood from unleashing a cosmic terror upon this world.

There are others investigating the supernatural in our town, drawn to places of power where the veil between worlds grows thin. The wooded graveyard at Hangman’s Hill, the French Hill district where inexplicable suicides have taken place, and the infamous Witch House on Pickman Street – all are locations where dark energies converge. It is to these places, and to the Island itself, that I must go.

November 28th – As I sit in my study, surrounded by my books and artifacts, I can’t shake off the feeling of being watched. It’s as if someone is lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. I’ve double-checked all the locks on my doors and windows, but I can’t shake off the sense of dread that’s creeping up on me.

And then it happened. I went out to grab some groceries and when I returned, I found my home had been burgled. Drawers were left open, cabinets had been ransacked, and my most precious artifacts were missing. But it wasn’t the theft that frightened me the most. It was the feeling that whoever did this was looking for something specific.

Could it be that the Order of Hood, the blood cult that Jacob Tines had mentioned, had discovered my research and wanted to silence me? Or was it something even more sinister, something beyond human comprehension?

I can’t help but feel that I’m in grave danger. I’ve taken every precaution to secure my home and safeguard my research, but I fear that it may not be enough. The shadows seem to be closing in on me, and the whispers of eldritch secrets echo in my mind.

I must be more careful, more vigilant. I will not let them silence me. I will not let them take away my son’s visions, which I now know to be true. I will not let them win.

December 16th – I woke up to a phone call from Jacob’s wife this morning. She was frantic and desperate, asking me if I had heard from him. Apparently, Jacob had gone missing yesterday, and she was worried sick about him. I tried to reassure her, telling her that Jacob was a seasoned investigator, and that he knew how to take care of himself. But deep down, I knew that something was wrong. He and I had been exchanging notes and information for weeks. He was supposed to meet me yesterday to discuss our findings, but he never showed up. I thought that he might have gotten caught up with something, but now I fear that something more sinister may have happened.

I spent the whole morning trying to reach out to Jacob’s contacts and colleagues, hoping that someone might have seen or heard from him. But everyone I spoke to seemed just as clueless as I was. It’s as if Jacob vanished into thin air. My hope is we find him well, but my fear is he might never be found at all.

January 7th – Tomorrow I embark on an expedition to the fabled Island, the place where the secrets of other-worldly horror lie buried. I have been invited by a group of like-minded scholars and adventurers who seek to uncover the mysteries that have haunted this town for generations. I must admit, I am filled with both excitement and trepidation at the prospect.

The group consists of a diverse array of individuals, each with their own unique skills and backgrounds. There is Dr. Emily Grey, an archaeologist and expert on ancient cultures, who will no doubt be invaluable in deciphering the cryptic symbols and artifacts we may encounter. Then there is Captain John Roberts, a seasoned seafarer who will be piloting our vessel, the Lady of the Sea, through the treacherous waters around the island.

There are also a few members whose motives I am less certain of. Professor William Rookwood, an expert in the occult and a colleague of mine at Miskatonic University, seems to have a vested interest in the Great Old Ones and their supposed return. And then there is the enigmatic figure known only as the Traveler, a man who claims to have journeyed to the ends of the earth and beyond, and whose knowledge of the arcane is matched only by his aloofness.

Despite my misgivings, I am eager to join this expedition and finally uncover the truth about Arkham and its dark past. I have packed my bag with all the necessary supplies, including my trusty journal, and have prepared myself mentally and physically for what lies ahead. The journey will not be easy, but I believe it will be worth it.

As I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I cannot help but feel a sense of dread and fear building within me. Tomorrow, I will set out for the island, and I fear what horrors may be waiting for us there. But more than that, I fear for my son Derrick, who has been plagued by visions of otherworldly beings and other dimensions. I cannot help but wonder if his visions are somehow connected to the mysteries we seek to uncover on the island. I pray that we find some answers that can help my son, and that we do not unleash something even more terrible than what he has already seen.

January 8th – Today is the day of reckoning. The day I board the boat that will take me to island with the expedition team. I can feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, the burden of knowledge and the fear of the unknown. My nerves are shot, and every shadow seems to hold some lurking horror waiting to pounce.

I can’t shake the feeling of being followed. Every time I turn around, there’s no one there. But I know that something is watching me. Something sinister and malevolent. What if the expedition team is in on it? What if they are part of the cult, or worse, possessed by the monsters themselves? What if this is all a trap, a way to lure me to the island and sacrifice me to their dark gods?

But I must go. I must face my fears and uncover the truth. For Derrick’s sake, for Eileen’s sake, for Jacob’s sake, and for the sake of all those who have fallen victim to these horrors. I will not let fear consume me. I will face this head-on, and I will come out victorious. Or at least, I hope I will.

I love you, Eileen. I love you, Derrick. Know that I have done this all for you.