text: From the Vatican Archives: File M5:1-5 Posted from The Convent of Las Hermanitas de los Mansos, Sanitorium - Manta, Ecuador From Christian Drewitt November 17, 2010 Dearest Lyra, Where to start? It’s been a year or more since I last wrote, my love, and I hope that this letter will explain everything. I’ve included everything into a file, they gave me everything, everything. Now, it is clear to me that the things that have transpired have happened for a purpose by God, Himself. The good sisters of this convent where I have awoken have been kind enough to provide me with pen and paper so that I may relay to you this horrid tale. When I am returned to you, I will seal it away forever I hope. Should something arise, however, all the information related to this event can be located within these pages and you, Lyra, will bear the responsibility with which I have been cursed. As you know, for 27 years, I did not speak. I never bothered to learn sign language. The cure to my mutism, however, came in the form of extreme shock, deep in some remote pocket of a hot and damp South American jungle where my eyes were forced to look upon unnamable things so monstrous that I at once knew they were not of God’s good creation. I am not an archeologist as you were led to believe, although I work with ancient artifacts. My position at my company is to hunt and retrieve daemonic objects from the farthest reaches of the earth. There were six members of our party including myself. I am the last one alive and sane. Lyra, how I long to be in your arms once again. I miss you, the scent of your perfume, your laugh. Soon, we will be reunited and everything will be alright. Everything will be okay, everything will be okay. I can hear the key in my door--the nurses are returning with lunch. I will end the letter here and write you another to properly explain. My love forever and ever, Christian November 19, 2010 Dear Lyra, My love, I am posting this letter too close to the last one, so you very likely have not even received the first news. I wanted to be sure that you knew I was alive and well first before delving into an explanation. I didn’t get a chance to make you understand, to detail the events. Of course, you will be confused when you read the first letter. I understand. It must read as the rantings of a madman, but I assure you I am very sound of mind. You know that I have always borne a strong constitution. Everything will be okay. It always is. But I should tell you what happened. You see, someone opened the box once on land--the artifact from the ship that is. When we reached the jungle, we were to meet a young man, Javier. He was to be our guide for the final resting place of the [REDACTED]. That’s when it all went wrong. A group of men had been following for days. They were not natives, they spoke many different languages and some even wore military uniforms. Strange people, so strange. They would chant nonsense and worship at the foot of the [REDACTED]. All at once, they set upon us and killed Javier. Poor Alec Carter was gravely injured. We escaped but Victor allowed his eyes to fall open the cursed thing and it made him strange and poisoned his mind. Not even the natives will look upon it. Dr. Phillips navigated us through the jungle. He is a sick man. The doctor died shortly after. Don’t you see? It all went terribly wrong. It was meant to be a simple journey. The artifact would guide us to its home and it was going to be destroyed. It happened like this: Victor did not destroy the [REDACTED]. Instead, he fixed it. Then, the floors shook, creatures emerged. It’s hazy here. I remember Carter shouting for me to grab the [REDACTED] and run. There were flashes of gunfire, a great and fearsome voice booming in the cave, commanding all to look at [REDACTED]. Everything changed then, Lyra. I was in a cave, but something incredible happened. I was in the cave but then, in an instant, I wasn't. My vision cut to a white beach. There was a Tsunami-like wave that cast a shadow. It moved in slow motion. When I looked to my right, I could see the remains of an ancient desert city. There were sounds in my ears and scents filled my head. Incense and spices and the rings of bells. To my left, beneath the great wave, there was a woman dressed in black. A long black veil covered her face except for her kohl-lined eyes. Her fingers were motioning, sparks of red flame flickered along the tips and slither between the digits and knuckles. Death is a woman, Lyra. I have seen her now. She is beautiful and inviting. I was tempted to be with her, to end everything as it was and be free of the brine-riddled cave. But then before I could decide, I returned to the jungle and there were cool fingers over my eyes and a woman’s voice in my ear. “Don’t look.” There was screaming, more gunfire. My sight changed again. It sharpened. Once more, I had all my faculties and I can recall grabbing the box and shutting it. Mark Kim, he was with me. We escaped. But Lyra, there are people at my door again. Those men always come and keep interrupting . I will never manage to fully tell you my story. Greedy, they are. Over and over, they want to discuss what I have seen. I will write another letter as soon as I am able. Love, Christian January 3, 2011 Lyra, Why have you not returned my letters? It has been two months. Perhaps, I should be patient. I know that we are very far apart and the post will take a while to reach you in England. Things are not well, unfortunately. I believed I would improve with time but it seems that my nerves only continue to fray as my memory returns to me. Each piece only chips away at my own sanity. Lyra, I want to go home. Fevered visions have dominated my senses for what feels like days. Visions of cyclopean cities constructed in what appeared to be dark, wet caverns deep beneath the sea. Strange beasts swim before my eyes in that ancient grotto. I can fully recall now how I ran and slipped against the algae covered stairs in an attempt to climb out of the pit, while my fingers clawed against the stone. There was no escape. Each corner I turned, every tunnel and staircase only revealed more of the strange civilization. I felt my sanity slip further, though it might have been a blessing in those moments. Do you understand now? I saw it! It’s massive body breaking water over its back and leaving the seabed exposed. Its face was a mass of tentacles that twisted and wove in endless motion beneath red, glowing eyes. I could not describe its size, for the thing dwarfed any structure that you have likely seen. Oh, dear God! I shake and weep now as I recall that eldritch scene. Surely, it could not be a mere beast but a god of old. Yes. A god of old coming to exact vengeance on mankind for allowing ourselves to forget it. If God was merciful He would strike us all down rather than allowing us to continue to exist alongside these creatures. I remember wandering through the jungle. My mind switched back and forth. When I was not lost in the ancient city, I was lost in the Amazon trailed by my final living but mad companion. I stumbled along the river, faintly aware of the weakness my body felt. The only reprieve during these torturous hours was the periodic appearance of that woman from my dream--if it was a dream. In the moments I felt my nerves become undone, she would materialize just out of reach. Death’s lips would brush the shell of my ear, fingers against my back, all gentle direction onward through the trees or upward through the labyrinth. I ran until I could no longer. From there, I found myself dragging myself along the forest floor I lay face down in the mud only inches from the river, but could not raise my head nor make any movement toward it. It was then she appeared. She knelt by my head and dripped cool, fresh water into my open mouth with gold ringed fingers. I cannot recall her exact appearance, only the tender shape of her dark eyes. With every move, the jewelry that hung from her ears chimed against the delicate chains that were twisted into the woman’s dark hair. She came to the end of her bucket of water, letting the liquid drip against my lips for the final time. She pressed her mouth against mine and whispered a single word, “Speak.” In an instant, she was gone and my memory of the next period in the wilderness as well. And that is it. I awoke in a hospital in the coastal city of Manta, Ecuador; miles away from our initial destination. Apparently, my body had been discovered by a group of fishermen on the river. I had been babbling when I was found. With me was the box that I clutched to my chest like a jealous child. I had begged anyone who had handled me not to open it. To the fishermen’s and doctors’ credit, they honored my wishes and the same bag was found beneath my cot. Back! Those wretched men have returned. They will take away my letters again but I don't know if they will post it. Love of my life, Lyra, please . I need some assurance that you have read my letters. It will keep me going for a little while longer. Love, Christian March 22, 2011 My love, I have received your letters, but I feel something is terribly wrong. They have all come at once, wrapped together, all opened and resealed. You said in the most recent posting that you were taking the next flight out to Manta and will be in Ecuador within the next 72 hours. It has been a week since and I am so afraid, Lyra. I want to go home. They will not let me leave the room. They have cut out much of my words, of that I am certain. You will have only read the sections of my writings that paint you a picture of a man who has lost his mind. I am sane, Lyra. To this fact, I cling desperately for it is the last thing I have in my possession. They have taken the box from me. They will not let me see my companion and I can no longer hear him cry. Please, come to see me. Love, Christian April 2, 2011 Dear Lyra, They tell me I am ill. Over and over, they have told me. With all these memories in my mind of the grotto, of the eldritch beast and all his caves, of the woman sent by Death--if not death herself. I want them gone. Perhaps, in order to rid myself of such things, it would be best to accept that they are ravings of a madman. I came to understand that maybe you have not visited because of my poor standing. One day, when I am returned to health, I will pack up and step out onto the street, the cobblestone street across the church. I see it every morning outside my window, the sight impeded by bars. I am tired of this small, white room. I would write more, but there is not much to write. The hours creep by as slowly as they did on the ship. There are days that my dreams blend into the present and I can see you standing on the street corner, waiting for me. Like right now. It is so clear, but I must remind myself that it is not so. There is a woman there, though. Of this, I am certain. I can see her clearly on the street corner staring at me. Veiled in black, kohl darkened eyes that I can see even from here in my room. Her earrings are tinkling against the rings on her fingers as she tangles them around and around. She has found me again. The sound, it grows close and I can smell the sea. Salt fills the air and she is at my window.