The Disappearance of Edwin Boyd

Lovecraftian style horror.

This manuscript was found scattered near the desk of Edwin Boyd. It appears to have been written shortly before Mr. Boyd's disappearance as it was found near a short trail of gore leading to a nearby broken window. There also appeared to be deep gouges into the wooden floorboards. All the doors were locked and securely shut. These papers seem to be our only clue as to Mr. Boyd's whereabouts.

From the papers of Edwin Boyd

           I'm afraid that time is a luxury I can no longer enjoy. There are some deeds that cannot be undone, and they must all be paid. I fear a heavy price for my own deeds. I must relate the events of the past few days and admit to my sins so that others may be warned away. I must sound crazy but all that I am about write is truth.

           It started two days ago. I was visiting the home of my late grandfather, the sad deed of sorting and arranging his scant belongings had fallen to me. Once I arrived I saw that in truth there was not much to be done in the old house. My grandfather was a queer old man, preferring time alone with his papers over having visitors. In fact, the only thing in the house worth saving were his books and papers.  Along one wall of his den stretched a tall bookshelf brimming with tomes and journals. I knew that I had my work cut out for me as I scanned titles such as The Book of Eibon, Friedrich Von Junzt's Unaussprechlichen Kulten, and Comte d'Erlette's Cultes des Goules. These titles meant little to me at the time, but had somehow planted a seed of dread in my mind. Feeling flustered, and more than a bit irritated with myself for being spooked by a handful of books, I began the process of loading my grandfather's papers into a trunk which I intended to send to my apartment via delivery service. The was no sense in trying to carry it up the stairs of my building when I could have it delivered to my door.

          As I neared the end of my task I came across a worn journal written in my grandfather's hand.  Eager for an insight into his mind and odd taste in literature I leafed through the aging pages. I had no idea of what I might find, but what was there seemed to be near madness. Passages relating to nearby caves, lists of strange ingredients, arcane symbols drawn repeatedly. The writings seemed to be a collection of gibberish, however I set the journal aside, deciding to carry it home personally to study while awaiting the rest of the collected materials.

         The light of day was just beginning to fail as I made my way through the nearby town, searching out it's postal office. Pulling into the office I had a sudden urge to hide the journal before carrying on with my intended business. Thoughts of the paper's safety filled me, yet there seemed no reason to be fearful. This was a sleepy town, undoubtedly a place in which people rarely locked thier doors much less broke into people's vehicles. Nonetheless I placed the journal into my glove compartment, making sure it was locked fastly before going about my postal business. After quickly paying the rate of freight I made my way back out to my car, a sudden urge to check the lock on the compartment. Finding everything secure I began my journey home, stopping only for a bite to eat, and once there quickly collapsed into a deep sleep.

         Awakening to the morning sun cutting parallelograms across my bed, my head felt dull, as if it were stuffed with cotton. Rising stiffly, disentangling myself from the disheveled bed linens, I made my way to the kithcen, intent on a light breakfast. But there sitting on my kitchen counter amongst a myriad of spices, lay my  grandfather's journal. Shock held me fast momentarily. I was positive the kitchen had been spotless, not so much as a dish in the sink. Not to mention I had locked the journal into a drawer of my desk. Quickly I surveyed the rest of my quarters, checking the locks and whereabouts of my valuables. Everything was as it should be, all the windows and the door were locked. Nothing was missing. Perplexed, I made my way back into the kitchen to inspect the mess on the counter. A circle had been drawn using what appeared to be kosher salt. Sage and  thyme had been piled in the center and burned, leaving a chalky ashen disc. What had happened here? Could I have done this in my sleep? I did feel rather torpid. Shaking my head, I went about cleaning up the mess before retiring to my study with the journal.

        Settling into my favorite chair I at once turned my attention to the odd writings before me. The journal's pages were stiff and beginning to yellow with age, they crinkled in protest at each turn of a page. The dark ink had begun to loose it's luster, although the cribbed handwriting was still legible. Scanning through several of the passages it began to dawn on me that there was a slight ring of familiarity. Something told me I had read this before. I dismissed this as nonsense, of course. How could I have read a journal I had never laid eyes on before yesterday? No, I thought, it was merely having perused the book shortly before the night's fitful sleep that laid this familiarity before me.

        The passages themselves were fantastical. The entailed accounts of my grandfather's explorations of the caves near his home. There he had found deep pools of benighted water, completely opaque even when he held his lantern close to its surface. He visited these dark wells often, finding on occasion odd remains, and once or twice what appeared to be deep gouges in the stone as if a great claw had made its way from the depths. At other times bones would be found scarred as if they had been gnawed upon. Apparently on one of his last visits there had been a sheaf of papers wedged behind a rock very near the pool. Upon examination it was seen to hold an odd series of glyphs and phrases. According to the journal that was my grandfather's last visit to those cyclopean depths. He instead threw himself into deciphering his latest discovery hoping to learn the secrets of those dark waters.

         As I continued to read, it slowly came to my attention that the light was growing dim. I had been at it all throughout the day and my neglect began to feel evident as my gut began to churn. I quickly assembled myself a light repast which I brought back to my desk so I could continue my read while I ate. Switching on my desk lamp I turned back to the journal, chewing thoughfully as I read of my grandfather's aquisitions of the odd books I had found in his library. That's when I found the source of his quest. The sheaf of papers from the cave had been placed inside the journal. They appeared to be a kind of religious rite, or at least that was my instinct at the time. The writing was in a language I couldn't place, and the symbols seemed to me to be completely baffling. I knew if I got started on this now I'd never make it to my bed, and the previous nights restlessness was beginning to take its toll. Reluctantly I locked the journal and papers securely in my desk drawer and began my nightly routine of cleaning up the kitchen and checking the locks before turning to the comfort of my bed. I was asleep before the pillow warmed beneath my cheek.

         The next morning I awoke to a dull throbbing in the palm of my hand. Groggily I sat up before examining a long cut across the center of my palm. Alarmed, I jumped up and cleaned the wound in the bathroom sink, searching for any other injuries while I was at it. My hand looked as if it had been sliced by a sharp instrument, the cut was too clean to be anything else. I bandaged myself and went back into my bedroom but found nothing out of the ordinary, not until I made my way out into the living room. I stood as if my feet had grown roots as I gazed the wreckage of my small living area. All of the furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room, right up against the walls. The cleared area wasn't quite empty though. Scorched into the boards of the floor were the glyphs from the papers my grandfather had found. A great circle of salt was formed around the burns, perfect save for a small break, as is the line had been stepped upon. The journal was once again out of place, having been left just outside of the markings. The dark stains of drying blood were pooled in the center ring of the eldritch design.

          Fear assailed me, piercing my senses. My knees grew weak as confusion tried to take over. Visions of the night before came back as glimpses of a dream. I knew it was me who had drawn the glyphs with sage and thyme. It was me who had laid out the circle of salt, my blood in the center. I had felt a presence, a dark malign essence filling the room and driving me back across the barrier of the salt, breaking its line. Then it had suddenly disappeared, as if it had flown out towards the starry night. 

         I knew then that I had to finish the journal. I had to find out what I had unleashed upon the world. Grabbing the journal from the floor I retreated once more into my study desparate find out what I had done. The passages told of my grandfather's search through occult tomes of immense age. Tomes of forbidden knowledge dealing with communicating with great evil gods and thier fiendish minions. The journal kept on in this vein until the last entry.

No! I must hurry, time grows short. Already I feel the dread chill which proceeds the fiend.

       The last entry told of my grandfather's true nature. He had found the true meaning of those cursed pages from the cave. They were meant to free the beast. An evil prophet of eldritch beings. My grandfather had intended on releasing the foul creature but he lacked the power. Instead he used his arcane knowledge to release it through me! Now I fear it has

 

That is all we found of this document. There is a tear in the page starting from the last letter written, as if the pen had been jerked from the page. The scene was found when a postal worker attempted to deliver a trunk of papers to Mr. Boyd. Against what was written in the document, all rooms in the apartment were immaculately clean save thearea in the study which was noted before the manuscript. The journal mentioned is also missing from the apartment.  At this time the whereabouts of Edwin Boyd are completely unknown. The case remains open.

Reviews

[Here No More]

This has GREAT Lovecraftian flavor! There are infrequent grammatical errors (unentangling should be disentangling, for example) that, when cleaned up, will make the link to Lovecraft even stronger. Aside from those small bits, this is very well done.

[Marie]

Nicely done, but I would make the font a little bigger so it's easier to read.

[Phil Kuhlman]

Very good venture into the world of the "mythos". THe only things I saw that could be improved had nothing to do with the actual story, such as the line from the journal. I'd put that in italics to give a bit of seperation from the train of thought from the narrator. The font is also a bit small. And I'd possibly put the final part in italics or separate it with a line from the story itself. I love the ending, it reminded me of "notebook found in an abandoned farmhouse" (At least I think that was the title). Very cool stuff, it's work like this that brings new readers into the world of Lovecraft and his contemporaries. That's one of the highest compliments I can give as a writer influenced by the Lovecraft Cycle as well. Again, great work!

[Janelle Walden]

this reads in a way that makes you see everything as a brilliantly suspenseful movie playing across the screen in front of you..& the ending just makes it that much more "real"...loved it...can't wait to see your other stuff :)

[Pauline Ramsey]

I thought that this was very well written. I like the level of horror your delivered and that you continued with the macabre ambiance throughout the piece. Your descriptions were great and I loved the word usage you used for them. I recommend making the font size of this piece a bit bigger, I had a hard time keeping my place because it's so small. I'm sure other readers have had the same problem as I have had. This piece has been chosen for the Deliver Us From Evil anthology. I did however notice some grammar and spelling mistakes which I've listed below. Again, great work!

Feeling flustered, and more than a bit irritated with myself for being spooked by a handful of books, I began the process of loading my grandfathers papers into a trunk which I intended to send to my appartment via delivery service. - Apartment.

As I neared the end of my task I came across a worn journal written in my grandfathers hand. - Grandfather's.

The writings seemed to be a collection of gibberesh, however I set the journal aside, deciding to carry it home personally to study while awaiting the rest of the collected materials. - Gibberish.

Pulling into the office I had a sudden urge to hide the journal before carrying on with my intended buisness. - Business.

Thoughts of the papers safety filled me, yet there seemed no reason to be fearful. This was a sleepy town, undoubtedly a place in which people rarely locked thier doors much less broke into peoples vehicles. - Papers' safety and people's vehicles.

Nonetheless I placed the journal into my glove compartment, making sure it was locked fastly before going about my postal buisness. - Business.

Finding everything secure began my journey home, stopping only for a bite to eat, and once there quickly collapsed into a deep sleep. - I think you should add an "I" in here somewhere.

But there sitting on my kitchen counter amongst a myriad of spices, lay my grandfathers journal. - Grandfather's.

The journals pages were stiff and beginning to yellow with age, they crinkled in protest at each turn of a page. - Journal's.

No, I thought, it was merely having perused the book shortly before the nights fitful sleep that laid this familiarity before me. - Night's.

Accounts of my grandfathers explorations of the caves near his home. - Grandfather's and this sentence is a fragment. You can add "It entailed accounts or There were accounts." Rather than just leaving it as it is.

Upon examintion it was seen to hold an odd series of glyphs and phrases. - Examination.

According to the journal that was my grandfathers last visit to those cyclopean depths. - Grandfather's.

Switching on my desk lamp I turned back to the journal, chewing thoughfully as I read of my grandfathers aquisitions of the odd books I had found in his library. - Grandfather's.

Thats when I found the source of his quest. - That's.

My hand looked as if it had been sliced by a sharp instrument, the cut was to clean to be anything else. - Too clean.

The passages told of my grandfathers search through occult tomes of immense age. - Grandfather's.

The last entry told of my grandfathers true nature. - Grandfather's.

[Celtic Cat]

Most excellent!!!! I have not read HP Lovecraft, but I don't think that diminishes my appreciation of this work. I love it. I like how you set it up, and left us in the dark. I like this guys grandpa... not your everyday grandpa for sure!!!! This is excellent, no wonder you hit the Popular Writer spot so often!! : )

[Ice Queen of the Vampir..]

I've never read Lovecraft but this story is amazing. Fabulous job!!!

Heather

[Beautifully Tragic xPoe..]

Not familiar with Lovecraft Circle, but I enjoyed that story. Great Write.

[Tania Leigh]

James, this is just incredible....will you write more? I'm not familiar with Lovecraft, but I think I may make myself as such....

Excellent write!

[Captain Blackheart (The..]

I recognise the name Lovecraft and after reading this I will go out as see if I can find any of his works. This is a wonderful piece of writing...make me think what the beast was that is unleashed upon our world. Great visualisation and story telling......EXCELLENT!!!

[John Stussy]

OOoooh, I've never rerad any Lovecraft, but this definitely makes me want to read some! Excellent story, it had me captivated through the end.

One thing I might suggest is making the font a bit bigger, it's a little difficult to read.