Shadows

Dear Reader, 

Whoever you are, if you are reading this, I urge you to stop. Don’t use the money, close this notebook, throw it all out and walk away. Forget you ever found this.

I know that it is a big ask. $20,000 is a lot of money. Before using it, please read this. I hope that once you read about the darkness and the madness, about the cursed knowledge that I will never be able to forget, you will heed my warning. Let me tell you my story, dear reader.

The first thing you need to know about me is that I always enjoyed writing. “Enjoy” might be too little a word; I love it with every fiber of my being. I never go anywhere without paper and pen. I truly believe that writing is the most important accomplishment invented by humans, a way for us to pass down our knowledge and experiences through generations. It is what enabled us to create culture and civilization.

No wonder, then, that I decided to study Literature. I was asking friends to contribute any amount of money for my education when I got a call from… well, let’s call him John. I knew John from high school but never liked him. He was one of those kids that you could feel something off, like he wouldn’t grow up to be a good person. We weren’t friends, so I was surprised when he told me that he had gotten a high-paying job at a bank and wanted to help with my fundraising.

We met in a crowded coffee shop. It was sunny and clear, one of those days that you ask yourself how anything could go wrong. The first sign that something would go wrong was John’s appearance. He always took great care with how he looked, but now he appeared disheveled. Dirty suit, unshaven beard, messy hair. Although he was clearly agitated, he tried to appear calm as he passed me a little black notebook and a suitcase.

“Don’t open it now. I believe this c-can help you. Don’t worry about giving it back, o-ok? Just use it any way you want.”

I was about to ask what all of this was about when he interrupted me. “The notebook… don’t open it. Ever. Keep it with you, but don’t look at what’s inside.” Satisfied – relieved, even – he got up and left before I could protest.

At home, I opened the suitcase and gasped. It was full of money. $20,000! I couldn’t believe it. Why would John just give me this and leave? I tried reaching him but couldn’t. He hadn’t been to work in days. Common friends hadn’t heard from him. Something was clearly wrong here.

Not knowing what to do, I reached for the notebook. Maybe it contained answers. I stopped just short of opening it, feeling an instinctual reaction. Something inside my body was telling me to leave this alone. But if something was wrong with John, the notebook could have clues. I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t wish him harm either. Finally, I opened it.

Most pages were filled with strange symbols. Some had drawings – sketches of humanoid shapes with long, sharp fingers and tentacle-shaped limbs coming out of their backs. Flipping through it filled me with a sense of dread that I couldn’t explain. Suddenly I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, like a shadow on the wall. I was alone in the room, and just shrugged it off. I had to know what was going on. I had to know what the scribbles in the notebook meant.

I decided to show the notebook to an archaeologist at the local university. He was baffled. According to him similar symbols were, very rarely, encountered in archaeological excavations around the world and no one knew what to make of them. They didn’t belong to one civilization; in fact, they had characteristics from several ancient cultures. A Dr. Arhan (the world’s leading expert in old civilizations) had a controversial theory that the symbols belonged to an extremely old race, the first human civilization. Why records of this proto-civilization didn’t exist, he couldn’t tell. Maybe some sudden accident eliminated all traces of it, or – more disturbingly – this civilization was purposefully written out of history. Unfortunately, Arhan had disappeared years ago while working on translating the symbols and developing his theories.

I couldn’t make heads or tails of what was happening. It was a dark and rainy night when, getting home, I went online to investigate Dr. Arhan further. I found several articles describing how the police were dumbfounded about his disappearance; his house didn’t show any signs of a break-in and all contents were accounted for… including $20,000 in his safe.

Reading this, I could feel cold sweat dripping off the back of my neck. Again, I had the feeling that something was moving at the corner of the room, but when I turned all I could see were shadows.

The next day I drove to the library where Dr. Arhan’s notes were stored, arriving at night. The librarian told me that I could find them in the basement. Downstairs, I opened Arhan’s files and started to go through his notes.

A strange feeling of claustrophobia, an uncontrollable sense of dread, filled me as I saw the same symbols from the notebook on the doctor’s work. He was able to complete a partial translation of the symbols, and I stopped at a page with a hand-written translation of one word:

According to his notes, Dr. Arhan believed that the proto-civilization worshipped some kind of primitive god associated with darkness. The word T’ybur was the name of this god, literally translated to Shadow, and Arhan was convinced that this being was real. Dark entities in our mythologies were references to this original Shadow. This entity lived in a dimension parallel to ours, a dimension of chaos where this Shadow is in an eternal battle with Katheema, or the Light. Katheema, in turn, relates to benevolent god-like entities from myth.

The feeling of dread increased as I read and I had a strange sensation of being watched. My mind struggled to make sense of everything that was happening. What does all this hocus pocus has to do with me, or John?

As I continued reading, Dr. Arhan described how mystic men through the ages, like shamans and priests, could sometimes peer into a dimensional rift and encounter the Light. Corrupted and evil men, on the other hand, could come in contact with the Shadow. While the Light would provide guidance and illumination, the Shadow would offer a deal.  People could have anything they wanted – for example, a high paying job at a bank or becoming a world-renowned expert. Once the deal was completed, the Shadow would give the person a silver galleon. Those that made the deal would get their wish fulfilled as long as they kept the money, but for a price. One day, the Shadow would come to collect the soul of whoever possessed the galleon.

Are you getting the picture yet, reader? If not, one more detail should make it all clear. Below the word galleon, Dr. Arhan included the following:

I froze as the realization hit me. John made a deal with this Shadow, and when it came to collect his soul, he tried to get rid of the curse. Pass the money along to someone who needed it, and who might take it and spend it without a second thought. Me.

Suddenly the basement grew dark. I could see something moving on the walls. Shadows. Humanoid shapes with long, sharp fingers and tentacles on their backs. And, to my horror, the shadows crept out of the walls and closed in on me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. I could only stare in fear as the shadows walked closer and closer, enveloping me until everything was dark.

Was I dead? No, I was definitely somewhere. Elsewhere. Surrounded by an endless void of darkness. In it, I could sense... a presence. It was like the void was sentient. I felt my strength diminishing as if my life was being pulled out of my body. In my head, I could hear what seemed like laughter. The Shadow’s laughter. Laughing as it took my soul away.

Suddenly I saw a dim light in the distance. So small at first, I couldn’t even tell if it was real. Looking at it, I sensed something else in my mind. It wasn’t a voice, but… visions. Images of symbols like the ones on the notebook. The notebook! I still had it with me, in my coat pocket! I took it out, as well as my pen – I never go anywhere without one – and quickly scribbled the symbols in my mind. I couldn’t see what I was writing in the dark, but it didn’t matter. It was like I was in a daze, something guiding my hand. When I finished writing, I immediately started to feel stronger. The horrible laughter suddenly stopped and turned into an inhuman shriek, like the caw of a thousand crows. And the light started to increase, blinding me, until I was completely enveloped by it.

With a jolt, I woke up at the library basement, alone, Dr. Arhan’s notes still in front of me. Had I fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing? My foot caught something on the floor. It was the black notebook. My hands trembled as I picked it up and flicked through the pages. Suddenly, I froze. On one page I could see written – with my own handwriting – the symbols from my vision. It had been real.

So, what happened after that? What was this all about? I can’t know for sure, but I believe that I was trapped in the dimension of these elder gods, T’ybur and Katheema. The Light and the Shadow. The Shadow found me and was ready to collect my soul when… well, I think it was the Light. It found me too. And I don’t know why – maybe because I didn’t make any deal – it gave me a spell to fight the Shadow away.

I never saw John again. Maybe he ran away, but I don’t think so. I think that, after I escaped its grasp, the Shadow went back for the one who made the deal in the first place. It must have a soul. It must feed.

The writings in this notebook are cursed. It contains dark knowledge that man is not supposed to learn, about a dimension of chaos and madness. However, as much as it is a place of Shadow, it is also a home for Light. For as much as writing can damn, it can also enlighten. It can teach us, help us to find our way forward. It can save us. As it saved me. Writing is wonderful, miraculous. In my opinion, humanity’s crowning achievement. However, it can also be its greatest curse. 

Of course, I tried destroying the notebook and the money. Neither would tear, get wet or burn. I finally decided to tie everything into a rock and throw it in the bottom of the river. And I hope that it stays there forever. 

If you are reading this, however, it means that you found it and are now on the first page of the notebook. You still have time. Put it away and turn back. Whatever you can buy with the money is not worth it. The knowledge in this book is not meant for mortal men. If you proceed, I urge you to go to the marked page. It contains the spell that saved me. Hopefully, it can do the same for you. Proceed at your own peril. 

You were warned.