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<blockquote data-quote="Old Drew Id" data-source="post: 979823" data-attributes="member: 12175"><p><strong>Session 2 (5/14/2003) Into the Creepy</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>Session 2 (5/14/2003) Into the Creepy</strong></p><p></p><p>“Okay, this can not be the real thing,” Joe rolled his eyes, but still he didn’t pick up the book. “There is no such thing. It was <em>made up</em>.”</p><p></p><p>Taylor walked over to where Joe was standing. “What you babbling about, fat boy?”</p><p></p><p>Joe glanced absently over at her, and then back at the book. On the shelf in front of him was a single book, laid flat, exceedingly old, and bound in strange black wrinkled leather, and titled in silver: <u>Necromonicon</u>, and then in small letters underneath that, “Book of the Dead, by Abdul Alhazred, as translated by Dr. John Dee.” The letters in the title were not so much printed into the cover as they were formed, from the wrinkles in the skin. Joe motioned to the book dismissively, “This is fake. There is no such thing as the Necromonicon.”</p><p></p><p>Taylor, perhaps expecting something more forthcoming, shrugged her shoulders and moved on. Joe watched her go over to help Brother Cooper and Willie, who were examining another bookshelf full of books across the room.</p><p></p><p>Joe, remembering the shock from the power box, slowly brushed on finger against the book, half expecting it to crumble to dust when he touched it. The book felt normal. He guessed if t had been real it would have been ice cold, so with confidence, he stroked the front of the book with his hand. </p><p></p><p>The cover was soft, wrinkly, and a little squishy, and he had to admit, it felt an awful lot like human skin, but this certainly was not a real book. Just in case, he mumbled “Klaatu Barada Niktu” and then pulled it up off the shelf. He thumbed it open to a random page and began reading. </p><p></p><p>Strange diagrams, mad ramblings, various references to Elder Things… yep, just what it should be. Then, something more. There, on a page of scribbled text near the end of the book, a word caught his eye. ‘Agamotto’. Agamotto was not part of the Cthulhu mythos. Agamotto was just a spirit that Dr. Strange would call on every now and then. And Dr. Strange was not supposed to be in the Necronomicon.</p><p></p><p>There was another reference on a different page. “By the mystic moons of Munnopor, By the demons of night and day, By the flames of the flawless Faltine, Let yon spell be dissolved away!” That was specifically a spell that Dr. Strange used in <u>Strange Tales</u>. Joe couldn’t remember the issue number off-hand, but it was in the one-hundred-forties.</p><p></p><p>Joe paused. He knew this pretty well, considering he owned every issue of Dr. Strange ever printed, and had even dressed up as Dr. Strange for Halloween last year… well, okay, for the entire last half of October last year.</p><p></p><p>So, what was a copy of a fake book doing in this attic, and why was it making references to Dr. Strange comics?</p><p></p><p>Joe sat down at one of the dusty tables and started reading. The book was engrossing, disgusting, and disturbing. Mixed between the ramblings on about Cthulhu and watery cities and far realms, again and again there were references to magic from the Dr. Strange comic books. There were instructions, written like vague riddles, describing rituals, with further riddles as to what the rituals would do if enacted correctly. </p><p></p><p>Taylor tapped him on the arm, “Hey, fat boy, you deaf? Time to go home.”</p><p></p><p>Joe looked up. Brother Cooper and Willie were gone, and he could see that Taylor had gone through a large stack of books already. Joe looked down and realized he had only read a handful of pages. “Where did the guys go?”</p><p></p><p>“They went home an hour ago. I’m tired, and I’m ready to go home too.” She motioned to the book. “You can take that home with you, if you want.”</p><p></p><p>Joe’s brow furrowed. “Has it been an hour?”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, you been reading for like, two hours, now.” Taylor yawned. “Get up, fat boy, time to go home.” </p><p></p><p>Joe shrugged and closed the book. A sudden feminine yelp erupted nearby, and Joe realized only in the back of his mind that he had been the one to make that sound.</p><p></p><p>The cover of the book had changed. At the top left, above the title, the wrinkles had changed or somehow been moved. In large letters, in addition to the original title and other information, the cover of the book now clearly said “Joe.”</p><p></p><p>. . .</p><p></p><p>Brother Cooper was tired, and the book he was reading was almost certainly a waste of time. The author was not a very skilled writer, and the subject matter was meandering and often contradictory. It was no wonder Christianity had beaten out the pagan religions, he thought, if this was how poorly they were all presented. Brother Cooper decided he would give it one more chapter and then go to sleep. </p><p></p><p>He shifted the pillows behind his back to get more comfortable, adjusted the blankets on the bed to keep his toes covered, took a quick sip of water from the glass on his bedside table, and went back to reading. </p><p></p><p>The book Guyzell had chosen was apparently about geomancy. It was written by a man who obviously believed that magic was real, and the book was apparently intended as a textbook on how to perform various rituals dealing with ley lines and places of power. It annoyed Brother Cooper repeatedly, because the man referred to the place where ley lines touched as a ‘nexus’, but then referred to them in the plural as nexii, instead of nexuses, which Brother Cooper had looked up to confirm was the right term. </p><p></p><p>Anyhow, the author was apparently into a variety of new age disciplines, and <em>why was there a man standing there in the doorway?</em></p><p></p><p>Brother Cooper jerked the book down into his lap and looked up at his bedroom door. The light was on in the hallway, and there was no one there. He had seen him only out of the corner of his eye, but there had been a man standing there. A dark and hulking intruder, and very tall. </p><p></p><p>Praying for protection, Brother Cooper rolled out of the blankets and pulled his shotgun up out from underneath the bed. Taking a deep breath, he moved into the hallway.</p><p></p><p>. . .</p><p></p><p>Willie had browsed through the books in those shelves for a while, but everything was way too cryptic for his tastes. Every book was something about magic voodoo or hocus pocus, and it all seemed just a little too silly. Shoot, Willie had a great aunt or something that was supposed to be some voodoo lady down in New Orleans, but even he knew that it was all just a bunch of superstition and wishful thinking. </p><p></p><p>Willie was surprised to see Brother Cooper getting into the books so much, but he guessed if you had faith in so many holy things in the world, you had to have a pretty easy time with the less holy stuff too. Anyhow, there was nothing for Willie in those shelves, until he saw one familiar name.</p><p></p><p>Ward. Specifically, G.B. Ward. A small hand-bound volume titled <u>The Reason for Numismatics</u>. Shoot, before this week, Willie didn’t even know what numismatics was. He certainly didn’t understand the need for such a fancy word for coin-collecting. Definitely a white people thing. </p><p></p><p>Anyhow, if this was by the guy that built the library, then this was probably the best place for Willie to start reading.</p><p></p><p>Willie caught a ride back to his apartment from the preacher, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and settled into his easy chair. Willie had originally inherited this chair from his Gramms, and back then, it was just a chair. But he had to admit, after limping around on his leg all night, especially after having to climb that ladder, it sure felt good to sit down with a beer in that soft leather, recline back, and pull the lever to pull his feet up. </p><p></p><p>So Willie popped open his beer and started reading. And at once, he started cursing. Apparently this guy hadn’t done a very good job binding his book. All of the pages were out of order, and were not numbered. </p><p></p><p>Willie started skipping around in the book, and eventually began to make sense of what it was saying. The book read something like a journal, or a diary. But in general, the book was an essay putting forth Ward’s theory of how magic was supposed to work. </p><p></p><p>According to the book, Ward believed that there were a number of coins or medallions scattered around the world, and that these coins held the “key” to magic. These coins acted as focal points for magical events and magical energy and all of that kind of stuff, and apparently these coins had been around since prehistoric times. </p><p></p><p>Apparently there was more to it than that, though. Ward believed that the coins (and Willie guessed, magic itself) waxed and waned in power over time. Ward believed that the coins had once been really powerful back in ancient times, but all of the coins had gradually gotten weaker in power, leading into this long quiet period. </p><p></p><p>Ward believed that the coins were getting ready in his time to begin growing in power again sometime in the near future, and when they did, then magic would again be a powerful and real force in the world. </p><p></p><p>Willie burped and realized he was out of beer. He un-reclined the chair, set the book down in his seat to mark the page he was on, and limped the three steps into his tiny kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge. </p><p></p><p>When he turned back around, the book was no longer in the chair. Willie’s eyes focused on the top shelf of his bookcase, completely across the room from the chair. The book was sitting there, nestled neatly between a framed picture of his mom and a stack of old magazines. </p><p></p><p>Willie silently set the beer down on the kitchen counter, and drew his gun from its holster.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Old Drew Id, post: 979823, member: 12175"] [b]Session 2 (5/14/2003) Into the Creepy[/b] [B]Session 2 (5/14/2003) Into the Creepy[/B] “Okay, this can not be the real thing,” Joe rolled his eyes, but still he didn’t pick up the book. “There is no such thing. It was [I]made up[/I].” Taylor walked over to where Joe was standing. “What you babbling about, fat boy?” Joe glanced absently over at her, and then back at the book. On the shelf in front of him was a single book, laid flat, exceedingly old, and bound in strange black wrinkled leather, and titled in silver: [U]Necromonicon[/U], and then in small letters underneath that, “Book of the Dead, by Abdul Alhazred, as translated by Dr. John Dee.” The letters in the title were not so much printed into the cover as they were formed, from the wrinkles in the skin. Joe motioned to the book dismissively, “This is fake. There is no such thing as the Necromonicon.” Taylor, perhaps expecting something more forthcoming, shrugged her shoulders and moved on. Joe watched her go over to help Brother Cooper and Willie, who were examining another bookshelf full of books across the room. Joe, remembering the shock from the power box, slowly brushed on finger against the book, half expecting it to crumble to dust when he touched it. The book felt normal. He guessed if t had been real it would have been ice cold, so with confidence, he stroked the front of the book with his hand. The cover was soft, wrinkly, and a little squishy, and he had to admit, it felt an awful lot like human skin, but this certainly was not a real book. Just in case, he mumbled “Klaatu Barada Niktu” and then pulled it up off the shelf. He thumbed it open to a random page and began reading. Strange diagrams, mad ramblings, various references to Elder Things… yep, just what it should be. Then, something more. There, on a page of scribbled text near the end of the book, a word caught his eye. ‘Agamotto’. Agamotto was not part of the Cthulhu mythos. Agamotto was just a spirit that Dr. Strange would call on every now and then. And Dr. Strange was not supposed to be in the Necronomicon. There was another reference on a different page. “By the mystic moons of Munnopor, By the demons of night and day, By the flames of the flawless Faltine, Let yon spell be dissolved away!” That was specifically a spell that Dr. Strange used in [U]Strange Tales[/U]. Joe couldn’t remember the issue number off-hand, but it was in the one-hundred-forties. Joe paused. He knew this pretty well, considering he owned every issue of Dr. Strange ever printed, and had even dressed up as Dr. Strange for Halloween last year… well, okay, for the entire last half of October last year. So, what was a copy of a fake book doing in this attic, and why was it making references to Dr. Strange comics? Joe sat down at one of the dusty tables and started reading. The book was engrossing, disgusting, and disturbing. Mixed between the ramblings on about Cthulhu and watery cities and far realms, again and again there were references to magic from the Dr. Strange comic books. There were instructions, written like vague riddles, describing rituals, with further riddles as to what the rituals would do if enacted correctly. Taylor tapped him on the arm, “Hey, fat boy, you deaf? Time to go home.” Joe looked up. Brother Cooper and Willie were gone, and he could see that Taylor had gone through a large stack of books already. Joe looked down and realized he had only read a handful of pages. “Where did the guys go?” “They went home an hour ago. I’m tired, and I’m ready to go home too.” She motioned to the book. “You can take that home with you, if you want.” Joe’s brow furrowed. “Has it been an hour?” “Yeah, you been reading for like, two hours, now.” Taylor yawned. “Get up, fat boy, time to go home.” Joe shrugged and closed the book. A sudden feminine yelp erupted nearby, and Joe realized only in the back of his mind that he had been the one to make that sound. The cover of the book had changed. At the top left, above the title, the wrinkles had changed or somehow been moved. In large letters, in addition to the original title and other information, the cover of the book now clearly said “Joe.” . . . Brother Cooper was tired, and the book he was reading was almost certainly a waste of time. The author was not a very skilled writer, and the subject matter was meandering and often contradictory. It was no wonder Christianity had beaten out the pagan religions, he thought, if this was how poorly they were all presented. Brother Cooper decided he would give it one more chapter and then go to sleep. He shifted the pillows behind his back to get more comfortable, adjusted the blankets on the bed to keep his toes covered, took a quick sip of water from the glass on his bedside table, and went back to reading. The book Guyzell had chosen was apparently about geomancy. It was written by a man who obviously believed that magic was real, and the book was apparently intended as a textbook on how to perform various rituals dealing with ley lines and places of power. It annoyed Brother Cooper repeatedly, because the man referred to the place where ley lines touched as a ‘nexus’, but then referred to them in the plural as nexii, instead of nexuses, which Brother Cooper had looked up to confirm was the right term. Anyhow, the author was apparently into a variety of new age disciplines, and [I]why was there a man standing there in the doorway?[/I] Brother Cooper jerked the book down into his lap and looked up at his bedroom door. The light was on in the hallway, and there was no one there. He had seen him only out of the corner of his eye, but there had been a man standing there. A dark and hulking intruder, and very tall. Praying for protection, Brother Cooper rolled out of the blankets and pulled his shotgun up out from underneath the bed. Taking a deep breath, he moved into the hallway. . . . Willie had browsed through the books in those shelves for a while, but everything was way too cryptic for his tastes. Every book was something about magic voodoo or hocus pocus, and it all seemed just a little too silly. Shoot, Willie had a great aunt or something that was supposed to be some voodoo lady down in New Orleans, but even he knew that it was all just a bunch of superstition and wishful thinking. Willie was surprised to see Brother Cooper getting into the books so much, but he guessed if you had faith in so many holy things in the world, you had to have a pretty easy time with the less holy stuff too. Anyhow, there was nothing for Willie in those shelves, until he saw one familiar name. Ward. Specifically, G.B. Ward. A small hand-bound volume titled [U]The Reason for Numismatics[/U]. Shoot, before this week, Willie didn’t even know what numismatics was. He certainly didn’t understand the need for such a fancy word for coin-collecting. Definitely a white people thing. Anyhow, if this was by the guy that built the library, then this was probably the best place for Willie to start reading. Willie caught a ride back to his apartment from the preacher, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and settled into his easy chair. Willie had originally inherited this chair from his Gramms, and back then, it was just a chair. But he had to admit, after limping around on his leg all night, especially after having to climb that ladder, it sure felt good to sit down with a beer in that soft leather, recline back, and pull the lever to pull his feet up. So Willie popped open his beer and started reading. And at once, he started cursing. Apparently this guy hadn’t done a very good job binding his book. All of the pages were out of order, and were not numbered. Willie started skipping around in the book, and eventually began to make sense of what it was saying. The book read something like a journal, or a diary. But in general, the book was an essay putting forth Ward’s theory of how magic was supposed to work. According to the book, Ward believed that there were a number of coins or medallions scattered around the world, and that these coins held the “key” to magic. These coins acted as focal points for magical events and magical energy and all of that kind of stuff, and apparently these coins had been around since prehistoric times. Apparently there was more to it than that, though. Ward believed that the coins (and Willie guessed, magic itself) waxed and waned in power over time. Ward believed that the coins had once been really powerful back in ancient times, but all of the coins had gradually gotten weaker in power, leading into this long quiet period. Ward believed that the coins were getting ready in his time to begin growing in power again sometime in the near future, and when they did, then magic would again be a powerful and real force in the world. Willie burped and realized he was out of beer. He un-reclined the chair, set the book down in his seat to mark the page he was on, and limped the three steps into his tiny kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge. When he turned back around, the book was no longer in the chair. Willie’s eyes focused on the top shelf of his bookcase, completely across the room from the chair. The book was sitting there, nestled neatly between a framed picture of his mom and a stack of old magazines. Willie silently set the beer down on the kitchen counter, and drew his gun from its holster. [/QUOTE]
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