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“When the Spirits which are created of Clouds are invoked, they come with great deformity, in a horrible form, to strike fear into the Invocator, and with an exceeding great noise.”

Dark Are the Veils of Death

From Jacob Philips’ Journal, entry the 27th of May 1911:
For a long time I have been wanting to utter this, but I find it too hard to expound this face to face with anyone. So I have decided to write it here in my journal. To whom it may concern, l recommend that you never follow my footsteps and stupidity.

As I remember it, it was a bleak and misty night of November a bit more than several years ago. The wind was howling and the gnarled trees were moaning along to it. The dim moonlight shone through my window and cast a light upon my bookshelf. Thus revealing its stock of forbidden books and banned literature, amongst others were the Necronomicon by the Mad Arab Abdul Alhazred and the Clavicula Salomonis written in the renaissance. The worm-eaten books were more unappealing than ever, although the uncomfortable surroundings did cause excitement and a tempting aura around the books. I had just inherited my grandfather’s mansion. It was a nice house and very pleasant in the summer with the pond in the front yard and the green grass. The only thing that I had ever disliked about it was the attic. It was like someone was always watching you. Like someone haunted the darkness. In one corner was of course the bookshelf and in the opposite corner the grand piano was located. There was no light, not a single lantern. Only the moonlight and a few candles I had placed upon the grand piano when I moved in. It was getting late and I had to practice for my audition the next day. I was frustrated, it just did not seem as if I could get the pieces right. I decided that it was enough for the day and as I was just about to go down the stairs I heard a sound coming from beyond the piano. With a lump in my throat I scanned the room for what could have caused the noise. Soon I realized it was but a rat. I proceeded downstairs and into my kitchen. Hoping to calm down I found some ale and settled down at my table. After a few swallows I heard a strange sound. At first I thought it was coming from the cellar. I soon realized I was wrong and that the noise came from the attic. I drank the rest of my ale and went to the attic, although I did not want to at all. As I entered the unpleasant room I took a candle. Once again I realized that a natural cause was due to the terrifying noise. The window was left open. I went to close it and that is when I discovered doorknocker on the side of the bookshelf. The curiosity had now gotten to me and I could not help touching the doorknocker. A terrible sound rang out through the attic as the wall behind the bookshelf turned forty five degrees and unveiled a hidden room. In amazement I entered the room. It quickly came to my mind that it had been some sort of study. It was a dusty and pale room. There was a chair covered in spider webs and a desk with an inkwell and quills on it on the right and a small window and a telescope on the left. I stepped further into the room towards the table once again a terrible sound rang out through the attic and the wall closed behind me, but this time the bookshelf was on the inside of the study. On the table a book was lying. It was bound in brown leather and had no title. I opened it and soon discovered that it was the journal of my late grandfather.

From Roland Phillips’ journal, entry the 7th of February 1887:
By all that is sacred, why was I so stupid? Why do I not possess the same respect as my ancestors? Why did I choose to pursue such power and might in astral ways? I feel the watcher is close now. My time has come. The grim reaper sharpens his scythe. I have got to get away. The baying of the hounds is louder than ever. The nightjars’ scream is more piercing than ever before. I have got to get away. The Ancient are near. Yog-Sothoth.

From Jacob Philips’ Journal, entry the 27th of May 1911:
After studying the last pages of my grandfather’s journal I came to realize that the last entry was dated the 7th of February 1887. I was seven years old back then. It was the day before they took him away the men dressed in black and led him to the lunatic asylum. Struck with fear a memory stroke my mind the words “Yog-Sothoth” that was what he was repeating the twenty four hours before they gave him his lobotomy. I leafed through the rest of the pages and learnt that my grandfather had studied the forbidden books in this secret study for many years. It was late now. I had to rest my troubled mind, but I was stuck in the study with only a candle and a wee bit of the dim moonlight shining through the room’s small window. The fact that I did not know what really had happened to my grandfather was killing me. I decided to study the books myself. I took the Clavicula Salomonis and sat down at the table. There did not seem to be a lot of connections between what my grandfather had written in his journal and what was written in the Clavicula Salomonis. Its fragile pages were terrifying me, but still I seemed obsessed with the book. I do not have any memory of the book’s content. The only thing I recall from reading the book was that I looked up and a strong white light shone through the room and a great noise echoed through the room. I woke up in my bed the next day. I had no idea how I had gotten out of the study. I looked at my hands they were pale as a dead man and seemed almost ghostly. I was frustrated and confused. I went to the attic. The bookshelf was gone. I could not have gone through the window it was too small. While I wondered how I had ever escaped from the ghastly study the sunlight shone through the window and I heard someone knocking on the front door. I went down and opened the door and to my surprise it was the housemaid I had hired. It was not her arrival that surprised me, but her looks and condition. She was the most horrifying creature I had ever seen. She was very short and she had brushy eyebrows, she was beady-eyed and had down all over her chin. On her right hand she had seven fingers and her tongue was too big for her mouth and on her loins a small tail-like undeveloped limp was pointing out. She looked like her father had been an almost grown tadpole and her mother a Neanderthal. Her name was Miriam. When she spoke it sounded like a mix of English and gibberish. I felt sorry for the poor girl and made her work easy and helped her out if I had the time. The first few weeks she seemed like the purest soul you could possibly imagine. Then suddenly one evening while she did the dishes she started growling and moaning. I froze in fear. The noises she made did not at all seem natural for a human, especially not for a human of her size. Horrified as I was I had bolted and locked the door to my chamber. Miriam’s growling was getting louder and louder. I heard footsteps from the hall. Heavy and ponderous footsteps they must have come from a being at least ten feet tall. I took the cutlass hanging on my wall and pointed it at the door. The horrible creature I had not yet identified started ramming the door. As soon as it got through I could see a reflection of Miriam in the formless beast. It had tentacles and limps all over it. Its mouth was linked together by slimy skin strips. When it opened its vast chasm the skin strips were stretched and revealed a layer of sharp teeth and drool flew to every side. Terrorized I dropped the cutlass and ran. The thing tried to get a hold of me, but I somehow managed to escape. I arrived in town shaking with fear. I desperately tried to warn the townsfolk about ever going to my grandfather’s mansion, but I could not explain why: whenever tried my lips would be shut like they were nailed together and the only sounds I could make was like the wailing of a monkey. Now the men in black have brought me to the asylum too. In my cold cell I sit and await my destiny – dark are the veils of death.