I.
The wind howled through the trees and rattled the window panes as I lay there, sprawled on my hallway floor panting, trying to regain my breath. I know not how long I lay there, only that I waited, O God, how long I waited, to be sure that the fiendish beast (is that the word I can use to describe it?) had gone. When I eventually braved my fears and rose slowly and shaking to my feet, I found carnage. Blood was everywhere, and none of it mine. I called for James, my servant, until my voice was hoarse but to no avail, and I knew, with the certainty of the horror-stricken, that the pile of bones and blood by the doorway was him. Destroyed by the monster, from where-ever it came from, in it’s quest for whatever it had to do. Did it have a quest? If not, what was it’s purpose here? Why did it come here of all places? Why did it spare me? Did it believe me dead when I fainted after seeing it’s fearsome manifestation? What did it want? So many questions, and so few answers… I found my electricity in working order when I tried the lights, but, upon lifting the receiver of the phone to call the police, I found the line disconnected. My car was in town for services more than twenty miles away, and the fearsome storm that terrorised the night would prevent me from using my motorbike or seeking out my peculiar neighbours for aid.I decided to brave the night and wait till the morning before venturing out of my house. I walked to my study, the floor boards creaking under every step. I opened my safe and retrieved my Magnum revolver, and then reclaimed my hunting rifle from it’s home above the wide oak fireplace. I loaded them all, and, with spare ammunition, settled down on the hallway stairs to wait out the night, and what a long night it would be. Every sound seemed to be a knelling for my death, every whistle of the wind, every howl of the owls, every rattle of the trees on the window panes.
I was woken by the sound of a frantic knocking on the front door, and someone calling, "Open up, this is the Police!" I sat there stunned until I heard the command again. Then I rose quickly, and rested my rifle against the wall; I kept my revolver held ready before me. I slowly opened the door to reveal a small, plump and red faced policeman. He stopped knocking and cleared his throat. "Good morning sir, I am Officer Mark Johnson, badge 315. I am investigating a disturbance which, according to reports, started here last night. May I come in?" I stepped back and said to him, "Come in Officer. I think there is something you should see…" With that I brought him in and showed him the carnage in the hall and the remains of my servant. Immediately he switched on his radio and called for a full Homicide crew.
Within minutes they had arrived, along with the press, and were interviewing me and photographing the body and room. From there, the situation went from bad to worse. The Police charged me with the murder of James Green, and upon hearing my version of the events, declared me criminally insane and I was admitted to Arkam Asylum.
When there, I soon realised that my only chance of freedom was to agree with the Psychiatrist that there was no monster or evil demon and that I killed him. This I did, and so after three years in prison, I was declared legally sane, by the Government of the United States, and released with a certificate too prove it. The only benefit of going to the Asylum for me, was that I had no criminal record - It is considered unwise to promote repercussions by submitting the victims to the horror of their time in incarceration.
II.
Perhaps it is now time to write a word or two about myself… My name is Marcus Cole. I lived in Boston from my birth to the age of 33 after qualifying at Harvard University with degrees in Archaeology, Anthropology and Ancient History. I spent twelve years teaching at Miskatonic University, and acquired a nice, tidy and large cash sum after many years aiding in University investigations abroad. Upon my early return from New Zealand from an archaeological dig, after the death of a comrade under mysterious circumstances, I moved to rural Durham in Massachusetts, thirty miles from Boston. There I would be able to carry on my research into the ancient world. I have now lived in Durham for twelve years, and am now aged 45.
I've given you the start, now it's up to you to finish it. Just send your paragraph (chapter) to my Email address and you may find it shown next time you read it. What should happen next? Please write in with as little or as much as you want either witing your own part of the story, or with ideas on what could happen next. If you intend to write in, please write what happens NEXT, and not what happens in three weeks. This way a certain 'order' is kept to the events.
I've given you the start, now it's up to you to finish it. Just send your paragraph (chapter) to my Email address and you may find it shown next time you read it. What should happen next? Please write in with as little or as much as you want either witing your own part of the story, or with ideas on what could happen next. If you intend to write in, please write what happens NEXT, and not what happens in three weeks. This way a certain 'order' is kept to the events.
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