Valadius

Yay for good old Michael Crichton! I was a little depressed when he passed away.

Quite a lot of us are tired of those two things, bud. Glad to see someone new in the forum. ^^

Just for fun, I thought it'd be nice to share some of my favorite writers and authors that I might share them with everyone, as well as read others' favorites. Michael Crichton (Jurassic Park) Brian Jacques (Redwall series) John R. Erickson (Hank the Cowdog series) Sir Thomas Mallory (Le Morte d'Arthur) Stephen King (It) John Patterson (Toys) H.P. Lovecraft (At the Mountains of Madness) Orson Scott Card (Ender's Game) Frank Miller (Sin City) Alan Moore (Watchmen) William Shakespeare (As You Like It) Charles Dickens (A Christmas Carol) C.S. Lewis (The Chronicles of Naria) J.R.R. Tolkien (Lord of the Rings) T.H. White (The Once and Future King) Richard Adams (Watership Down) Homer (Odyssey) William Goulding (Lord of the Flies) Aldous Huxley (Brave New World) Lewis Carrol (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland) H.G. Wells (War of the Worlds) Isaac Asimov (I, Robot) Richard Matheson (I Am Legend) Ayn Rand (Atlas Shrugged) Plato (The Republic of Plato)

((FIRST VERSE)) Looking upon the world, In all its blackened wonder, I feel the pulling and the terror, That may break my world asunder. Looking through a lighted cube, Gazing at the rich and the self, I can sense the devil's breath, And laughter teases me deaf. I hear him laugh and wail with glee, At these poor mortals' plight, Presenting the world with chains, To stop their souls from flight. Tears pour down my cheeks, Hot reminders of the past, Ask ask the Lord above, Why does this torment last? ((CHORUS)) 2x The world is covered in blackness, Of bile and filth so foul, I wish I knew how to stop, The devil's screams so loud! Call to the Lord, my brothers, Don't let Hell take 'em all, Go to them who are lost, In the blackness of the fall! ((SECOND VERSE)) We stand upon the brink, The politicians break the Word, They stop the light of joy, For their own twisted hoardes. Awaken my brothers, Please open your eyes to the rot, Look to the Lord our Father, We don't know how long we've got. Make your stand for the righteous, Raise your hands to the sky, Feel that warm glow, For the Lord God on high. But don't forget those who walk, With the blackness' taint so wrong, We can't allow the flames of Hell, To take these souls along! ((CHORUS)) 2x The world is covered in blackness, Of bile and filth so foul, I wish I knew how to stop, The devil's screams so loud! Call to the Lord, my brothers, Don't let Hell take 'em all, Go to them who are lost, In the blackness of the fall! ((The song is meant for Christian metalcore, in my mind, especially since that's the form of music I'm most familiar with, being in two Christian metalcore bands in my time.))

Aliens VS Predator, the video game. ^^ Love the Aliens and the Predator series.

Very nice! ^^

Here's my list, along with some of my favorite songs: Howard Shore (composer of LOTR) James Horner (composer of Avatar) John Williams (composer of Jaws, Jurassic Park, Star Wars) Jerry Goldsmith (composer of The Mummy) Bing Crosby Disney Classics (gotta love 'em) All That Remains As I Lay Dying Bathory (The Eternal Fire) Dethklok ( Yes...I'm a sad individual. lol) Aerosmith (Don't Wanna Miss a Thing) Beach Boys (Get Around) The Romantics Rammstein (Engel) Rob Zombie (Dragula) Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band (Turn the Page) Charlie Daniels (The Legend of Wooley Swamp) Elvis Presley (Suspicious Minds) Pink Floyd Seether (Broken, featuring Amy Lee from Evanescence) Hinder (Lips of an Angel) Def Lepperd Lep Zepplin (Kashmir) Flogging Molly Dropkick Murphy's Metallica (Until It Sleeps) Brian "Head" Welch (Washed By Blood) System of a Down (Aerials) Drowning Pool (older stuff) Creed (Higher) Kid Rock Black Hawk (Ships of Heaven) Eagles (Desperado) Maximum the Hormone (What's Up People?!) NEXT (Lazenca, Save Us) Aaron Tippets (Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly!) Toby Keith (Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue!) Breaking Benjamin (So Cold) Lacuna Coil Motley Crue (Shout at the Devil) Queen (We Are the Champions) Five Finger Death Punch Evanescence (hope I spelled it right) Skillet (Whispers in the Dark) Three Days Grace (Animal I Have Become) Guns N Roses (Sweet Child of Mine) Disturbed (Animal) Korpiklaani (Wooden Pints) Fintroll (Trollhammaren) Nightwish (I Wish I Had an Angel) Within Temptation (The Howling) Tim McGraw (Don't Take the Girl) Alan Jackson (Remember When) Garth Brooks (Learning to Live Again is Killing Me) Cledus "T." Judd (The Grundey County Auction Spitting Incident) Weird Al Yankovic (Amish Paradise) Suicide Silence (Genocide) Ozzy Osbourne (Mr. Crowley) Whitney Houston (I Will Always Love You) Journey (Open Arms) Whitesnake (Is This Love?) Styx (Come Sail Away) Linkin Park (Numb) Mozart (yes, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart) Beethoven (Fur Elise) Poison (Every Rose Has its Thorns) Demon Hunter (Undying!) Pantera (Cemetary Gates) Morbid Angel (Summoning Redemption) Black Seraphim (if my old, disbanded band counts. lol) Five For Fighting (100 Years) Slipknot (Left Behind) Simon & Garfunkel (Sound of Silence) KISS (Wanna Rock n' Roll All Night!!!) Static X (Push It!) ZZ Top (Sharp-Dressed Man!) KoRn (Freak on a Leash) Don McLean (American Pie) Modest Mouse (Float On) Soil (Halo) Harry Chapin (Cat's in the Cradle) Enya (May It Be) Emilliana Torrini (Gollum's Song) Heart (These Dreams) Joan Jett (I Love Rock n' Roll) Dragonforce (Through the Fire and the Flames) David Bowie (Space Oddity) Lordi (The Devil's a Loser) Manowar (Warriors of the World) Johnny Cash (Hurt! The most amazing Johnny Cash song, ever!) Limp Bizkit (Behind Blue Eyes remake) Nickelback (If Everyone Cared) CCR (Spirit in the Sky) Lynrd Skynrd (Free Bird!) Ray Stevens (We the People! And Everything is Beautiful) Tracy Byrd (Keeper of the Stars) George Strait (Out of the Blue Clear Sky)

Keeper of the Stars by Tracy Byrd. I got this song stuck in my head because in about a month, me and my wonderful fiance are going to finally be married. We've listened to this song before, and even cried listening to it because it was just uncanny how God brought us together. So I tip my hat to the Keeper of the Stars. He sure knew what He was doing when He joined these two hearts.

Welcome, welcome! Not every day you find a fruitbat. ^^

Oh, I love metal! I've been in two metal bands in the past, and had so much fun. Demon Hunter Suicide Silence Rammstein Within Temptation Nightwish Disturbed Brian "Head" Welch Pantera Metallica Hatebreed All That Remains Death Stars Black Seraphim (yeah, gotta toot my own horn, that was my old band, if that counts. ) Static X Ozzy Osbourne KoRn (older stuff) Korpiklaani Fintroll Lordi Manowar Dragonforce

Let's see... Classic NES: TaleSpin, Duck Tales, Paper Boy, Super Mario Bros./Duck Hunt, NFL Football, Dragon Warrior, Swords & Serpents, Final Fantasy, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Super Mario Bros. 2, Super Mario Bros. 3, Olympic Sports. Sega Genesis: Mortal Kombat, Mortal Kombat 2, Jurassic Park, The Lion King, The Jungle Book, X-Men, X-Men 2, Spider-Man, John Madden's NFL, PGA Golf, Sonic the Hedgehog, Sonic 2, Sonic & Knuckles. PS1: Resident Evil, Resident Evil 2, Resident Evil 3, Dino Crisis, Dino Crisis 2, Tekken, Tekken 2, Tekken 3, Final Fantasy 7, Final Fantasy 8, Silent Hill, ODT. PS2: Baldur's Gate: Dark Alliance, Baldur's Gate: Dark Alliance 2, God of War, God of War 2, Cabela's Dangerous Hunts, Cabela's Dangerous Hunts 2, Silent Hill 2, Silent Hill 3, Silent Hill: The Room, Silent Hill: Origins, Final Fantasy 10, Gauntlet, Dynasty Warriors 3, Dynasty Warriors 3: Empires, Jurassic Park: Operation Genesis, Haunted Ground. Xbox: The Thing, Dino Crisis 3, Voodoo Vince, Fable: The Lost Chapters. Yeah, not too many Xbox. Xbox 360: Alan Wake, Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Awakening, Dragon Age 2, Call of Duty: World at War, Call of Duty: Black Ops, Fable 2, Fable 3, Naughty Bear (hilarious, yet disturbing), Silent Hill: Homecoming, Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2. I know there's more, but I'm gonna need to make a proper list. I'm having a tough time coming up with all of them off the top of my head. lol

Sweet Child of Mine by Guns n' Roses. ^^

The most recent game I've played is Pathfinder. ^^ Yay for rpg's!

Shadows in the Deep Part 2: The Account of Student Thomas J. Smith When I heard of Professor Johnson's suicide, I was astonished. I wish I could have attended his funeral, though I didn't have any money to rent a tuxedo or fuel to get there, nor did I really think it proper for me to go there, barely having any relationship other than that of student and teacher. However, I did send my best wishes to his family. He was my favorite history teacher back when he taught in Central Wyoming Community College in Riverton, Wyoming. He was a teacher in that college for thirteen years and I had him for one year before he decided to retire and work for the Star Valley Historical Society. He did much better than the teacher that's there now, but I know you guys aren't here to be told anything about that. You're here to talk about It, aren't you? Well, I wish I had never seen It. It is evil. There's no other word for It. Evil. My search began about a year ago after Professor Johnson's suicide. For some reason, his memory jogged back to me and it led to my call to the Wyoming Psychiatric Hospital here in Cheyenne. The lady who answered the phone wouldn't let me have any information until I told a bit of a lie that I was Professor Johnson's nephew on his sister's side. Luckily, she bought it and asked me for my address to send all the information they could. It took only a couple of days for the package to arrive in my mail. I took it into my bedroom of my small apartment in Riverton so that I could go through the materials. A lot of it didn't make much sense to me. Especially when it spoke of when he was found down the hill and by the road south of Bedford Bench. It said that one of his arms had been severed, and traces of very corrosive slime was eating at his shoulder. I also read that he was in a pure state of shock, barely breathing. They said that the only way possible for Professor Johnson to make it that far from the house he had looked into was because he was working on pure adrenaline. I was amazed by that. What terrible thing had happened to him to do such terrible things to him? And what fear would have driven him nearly a mile south, even with an amputated arm? And then I came upon his interview. I could hardly believe that such a sane man as he could come up with such delusions as he did. Maybe he was sane, for after what I've seen now, who would want to live knowing all this? Finding myself obsessing over his interview, I put it away in one of the drawers of my dresser to ease my mind a little. I found myself thinking of just why was I so interested in someone that truly I really didn't know as a person. He was a teacher. He wasn't family. Still, I wanted to see. Wanted to see what happened to the poor man. Maybe it was the sense of mystery; I hardly know. I slept well the night after reading all within the package. Morning came, I went to work, then came home. The usual day. After microwaving a dinner for myself, I sat down to have some time to watch some shows on TV. It was about halfway through the second show on my usual watch when there was a knock on my door. Immediately, I assumed it to be another pair of religious people, wanting to give me a pamphlet to come and join their church. I always get them when my favorite TV shows are on. It's like they plan it that way. Agitatedly, I got up and opened the door. Nobody was there. But I did see a blue sedan drive off in a real big hurry from the sidewalk near my first-floor apartment door. Then I looked down at my feet. There was a piece of yellow notebook paper; a note made out of magazine and newspaper clippings. It said this: Mister Thomas, What is dead should stay that way. What is unsolvable should remain so. Don't delve too deeply into what you don't understand. Professor Johnson found what should never been discovered. If you gaze, too, into the abyss, you'll find what Johnson found: the fact that the abyss gazes back. A friend Confused and a little distraught by this, I threw it in the garbage. It was after that that my curiosity was peaked again and I looked over Professor Johnson's interview for the second time. The "idols" that he mentioned that so prominently held his interest started to hold mine. By no means were these statuettes familiar to me. So foreign. Almost alien, I guess would be the best word to use. I pulled out my laptop and started searching for anything about this "Great Cthulhu" and the "Bloody Tongue". In my search, only a few things came up. The first was a cult discovered in Africa, where they worshipped a strange entity called the Bloody Tongue. Nothing much else was known about this weird cult. The other was that of a book. That book was written by one HP Lovecraft. It was called Call of Cthulhu. Somebody had copied it down the entire tale and posted it on the internet in a paranormal society site. It was such a weird tale, yet so vivid. As if it had truly happened. At the bottom of it all was a short paragraph written by someone posted anonymously. It was a comment that sent chills through my spine. It read something like this: HP Lovecraft's tale of Call of Cthulhu has often been questioned to be true due to strong coincidences and a cult in Louisiana who truly with them a most blasphemous idol of the description given when the story reaches Part 2: The Tale of Inspector Legrasse. Lovecraft has given his most mysterious and terrible abomination: Cthulhu. And below the anonymous statement, there was links to other things, all of them things linked with every weird tale Lovecraft had ever done. Ships' whole crews disappearing, expeditions where all within were missing or massacred, minds of what were once great men eaten away by means of which nobody could explain, a military takeover of a New England fishing town due to evil activity, and a whole town who fears a hill and an abandoned bell tower. How could this be? It had to just be coincidence, but everything added up. But they shouldn't add up. They were just stories written by a great author, not some strange memoirs of true events! But if they are true, I thought, then please, God, don't let it be known, for who knows what would happen? Such terrible things! My mind was busy whirling through it when there was a harsh scratching at my door that made me jump. I shut my laptop and pulled the blinds from my bedroom window away for me to see. That was when I realized how dark it was. The moon didn't give off much light that night. All I saw was an outline on the porch. It certainly looked human. I got up out of the bed where I was searching on the web and paused. Why would a man scratch at a door instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell? That was when I grabbed for the knife I kept by my bed in case of break-ins. My hand wrapped around the doorknob, turning quickly and pulling it back, my other hand raising to give a slash to the intruder if they meant harm to me. It was then that I recognized the figure. It was one of my friends, Jimmy Hirchfield. His face was pale, his usually brilliant eyes now glazed. The scratching was apparently his fist lightly scraping the door, as if too weak to give a true knock to my door. He swayed on his feet before falling forward. I dropped my knife aside and grabbed him quickly, saving him from a harsh fall, when I noticed the piece of paper pinned on his back. It looked like the crude outline of an octopus head, with tentacles dangling. The paper was soaked in red and when I touched the paper I knew it was blood. Underneath the paper, there was a clean exit wound, flesh having burst forth from Jimmy's back! As I held him, I got my cell phone from my pocket and called for an ambulance and the police. But before they answered the call, I saw something move from the corner of my eye. Jerking my head in that direction, I found nothing in the pitch blackness. Then there was a whoosh from above and wind blew past my face, but only for a split second, as if possibly an owl flew past me. Shivering, I pulled my friend indoors as I repeated at the police that my friend was hurt. In a few short minutes, the ambulance arrived and took Jimmy away while I got questioned by the police on how I came across my wounded friend. It wasn't until the next day when I received news that Jimmy died that night due to shock and severe internal bleeding. But the doctor told me something else. He said that when he was cleaning the wound, he came across a sharp spike poking just barely out of the exit wound. He said also that he had a hard time pulling it free from Jimmy's body, and it wasn't until he succeeded several minutes later when he finally found out why. There were terrible, wicked barbs upon the spike, making it cling to Jimmy's insides and caused such horrible internal bleeding. I felt largely responsible, but I truly didn't understand why. Almost as if I was looking where I shouldn't, and thus causing the death of poor Jimmy Hirchfield. Now I find myself envying him. At least he doesn't have to live with what he saw before he died. His funeral was going to be held a month later, scheduled to be buried in the Casper Cemetery, close to where he was born and raised in the small city of Casper, only two hours away from where I lived in Riverton. I decided on a whim to drive down to Casper at around evening about a week after the incident to relax, call up a hotel and reserve a room for the night, and perhaps catch a movie or two in one of Casper's three or four theaters. Having put fuel in my car and called up the hotel, I started on my way to Casper at around seven-o'-clock in the evening. The drive, as I have known for years, was a rather lonely one. Sagebrush, empty land, telephone poles, and pronghorn antelope seem to be the only sights you will ever see throughout the whole trip. At least until you get to the small town of Shoshoni about twenty miles on the highway, and even then there's not much to see. Honestly, the place looks like it was established in the forties but never modernized. Old buildings and old houses. Had it not been for the 635 people who live there, you would think it was a real ghost town. It's a rather dismal place, really. I had read once that the census of the year 2000 said that there was 246 households and 171 families residing there, even in its near ancient surroundings. After passing that near-empty town, it's basically the same sagebrush and antelope story once again. I was closing in to Hell's Half-Acre about an hour into the trip, the night coming as it usually does. Just as I saw the old Hell's Half-Acre sign, I heard a strange noise softly in my ear. Thinking it might be engine trouble, I pulled over by the gate of the Hell's Half-Acre Café, which is now closed, and turned off my radio. It was after I listened to the sound for a while that I realized that the noise was not from my car, but from outside. It was a heavy sound. Like that of a bird's wings when it flies, but magnified to such magnitude of that that brings ideas of creatures long gone from our world. And it was getting closer. Whoomph! Whoomph! Whoomph! Whoomph! And the sound seemed to go faster and faster until the car shook slightly with the force of whatever it was. It was then that I did what even a foolish man would have not done. I stepped out of my car, still hearing that loud whooshing noise that I had heard only a second before. Ducking my head where I was behind the car, I watched the night sky through the opposite window, looking out towards the Hell's Half-Acre Café. Whatever was making the noise had went behind the closed-down café, past the building and into the barren lands beyond. Take careful, quiet steps, I snuck upon the café and its boarded-up doors and windows. I peered from behind the café, out toward the rocky miniature world on the other side. The landscapes is so alien there. No wonder when it was discovered it was dubbed Hell's Half-Acre. Pillars and walls of light yellow and white stone of rough texture and sharp angles that would certainly be difficult to climb if unprepared. It was down in those miniature canyons and pillars that I saw men; men standing around one monolith of rock, barely illuminated in the dim moonlight. One, who I assumed was a sort of leader, stood tall, his arms raised towards the pillar's peak, chanting something. I really can't remember, nor do I want to remember, because as he chanted and the some odd fifteen other people bowing and seeming to call out to it in ecstatic unison, the monolith seemed to vibrate and from within came a dark green glow, and even my meager human nose began to be filled with a nauseous stench, maddening my nostrils. Then came the sinister whooshing sound and It came into the soft glow of the monolith. It's hard for me to describe It as the light was so soft. All I could see, barely, was the outline of whatever this damnable thing was. Its body was long, coiling like a serpent, though I could see distinct arms and legs. Or were they arms and legs? I wasn't sure then nor am I sure now, for I remember seeing no real feet or hands or claws. And It had wings; wings that were covered in spines like the fins of a lionfish. Its head, though…I wish that I never saw its head, for my fear of spiders made its appearance shock me beyond recognition, for that's what it looked like. The head was the only part of It fully illuminated, so I saw in damnable detail the many eyes upon its face and longs, dripping fangs from its serpentine mouth, as if it were a drooling dog. And I saw the end of its tail, where I could see that long spike-like stinger, like that of a scorpion. And It made clicking sounds with it spines on its wings and its fangs and scales. I hid once again behind the café, closing my eyes as I felt the urge to run back to my car, but I found that if I did, that shadowy abomination would surely see me, and I was certain that it would kill me. All I could do was listen to the blasphemous chanting from below, hoping and praying for morning, though knowing it was still many hours away. Whimpering like a lost child, I tried to cover my ears from the chanting and the sinister clicks of the abomination, but it was as if my hands weren't enough. I could still hear it! It was as if that small moment of hearing it seared it permanently into my mind. Slowly, with my hands still clasped to my ears, I brought my head around to peer around the corner. The man who was leading the ceremony was still speaking in the horrible tongue. Behind him, one of the men bowing to monolith-perched abomination stood and began to walk towards the monolith, his arms raised and his eyes wide like that of a drug-crazed maniac. He walked right underneath the beast, looking up at it, spreading his arms wide as it lowered its wings, bringing its spines down to caress him, touching him all over. It was almost like those spines were to It as antennae are to insects, because its mouth seemed to show an expression of pleasure as its spines touched and rubbed the man. Then it brought its head close to the man, its fangs dripping as it opened its jaws wider and wider until it was able to engulf the man's head. I could not turn away from the gruesome sight as the beast proceeded to swallow its sacrifice whole, the chanting getting so loud that I could hear every syllable of that blasphemous language past my cupped hands. Soon, there was nothing left of the man except a bulge that slowly slid down the abomination's body to stop in the middle and squirm, no doubt being slowly digested. It was then that I could not hold it in anymore. I threw up right where I was thanks to the terrible sight of so hideous a thing. I still can't get that image out of my mind of that squirming bulge within It. But it was then that I realized that my squeamishness sacrificed me my chance to remain safe and hidden. I saw It turn its head quickly towards me and its many eyes began to glow in a sick green and red manner, the colors interchanging from one to another. Then It clicked its fangs together, directly towards me. Then the man who was leading the terrible ceremony also glanced in my direction. It was then that I shook visibly and ran. My mind was blank except for one thing: get to the car! My legs pumped and burned as I ran, as if to never stop, even after I heard the great whoomph-whoomph of It. I tripped and landed hard on my knees, just when I felt the heavy wing beats of the creature just above my head, and that I knew me if I hadn't tripped. Just the presence I felt from the flyby, I had an odd feeling that it had full intentions of killing me. But I couldn't focus on that. I needed to get to my car. Getting to my feet, I ran to my car, grabbing the passenger door's handle. It was locked! The automatic lock system locked all the doors when I began my drive, and now the only door that's unlocked was that of the driver! And the wing beats of the abomination were growing louder as it apparently was making a return flight back to me! I got onto the hood of my car, scrambling over it, landing on my side on the ground at the other side, and I grabbed the door handle just as I heard that sinister clicking from that thing in the air. I knew It was near. Pulling the door open, the world seemed to slow down. I jumped into the car, slamming the door shut, when that spike-like stinger of a tail burst through it, the spike flying forth from its tailtip on impact and lodged itself in the dashboard, narrowly missing my face, then another spike extended from its then-empty tailtip and it curled its tail, lodging it into the ceiling of the car interior. I watched in horror as the car was lifted off the ground and pulled high into the air. Then I felt a jerk as It flung its tail and It released the vehicle into the air. I huddled to the floorboard as best I could, waiting for the impact. Next thing I knew, I was awake, in terrible pain, and in a hospital bed. From what I heard the doctor said, a man hunting pronghorns in the area at the time came upon my car in the middle of a prairie some ten or fifteen miles away from Casper. I suffered a major concussion, a broken arm, buckled wrist, several broken ribs, and a torn femur. Of course, they blamed everything on me being high on some drug or drunk for ending up that way. But after testing me, I was found clean. And then they blamed my concussion for all the things I told them I saw. But I know what I saw. Though I wish I had never been there. I can't have any of those images out of my mind. All the medication they have in the world could not get rid of that clicking noise either. I hear it every night. As if It were still after me. INTERVIEWER'S NOTE: Mister Thomas J. Smith was found dead in the Wyoming Psychiatric Hospital two days after his interview. Cause of death was ruled a suicide by a sharp implement stabbed through the neck. A barbed spike was apparently stabbed into Mister Smith's throat while he was laying in bed with his window open for fresh air. But no fingerprints, not even Mister Smith's, were found on the spike-like implement. His funeral will be held in three days.

Shadows in the Deep Part 1: The Account of Historian Edward Johnson I don't know how to describe the hell I have been through. All those I have told, they all say I'm mad, driven over the edge, crazy. I may be. Or am I not? It's hard to tell anymore. They say that ignorance is bliss. I'm certain that they had no idea just how right they were when they said it. All that I have seen has not only opened my eyes, but has opened a new fear within me. That of noises that some say don't exist. That of things unseen. That of the strangers that abide in this building with me, even as I write this. Whether I be alive or dead, I will still fear those things. Those foul, reeking things. It began when I was at my office in Thayne, Wyoming. It's a small place within the close-knit community known as Star Valley that lies just before the western border between Wyoming and Idaho. In fact, one town even sits half in Wyoming and half in Idaho. I used to always find that fact amusing. Until I lost my sense of humor, that is. To the south, heading down the highway, was the town of Afton. And to the north, we have Etna, Alpine, and if you turn right just before a big lodge, you'd be on the highway heading to Jackson Hole and Teton National Park. Jackson Hole and Star Valley are high school sports rivals. My office was somewhat out of sight of Thayne's main street. I had it put in my house, where I live on the backroads. I do my research there of town and Star Valley history for the historical society, looking through newspapers from the origins of the community dating to when the first Mormon settlers set foot there. Now I wish they never did. Before I go on, I will say right now that I don't believe in ghosts, hauntings, paranormal activity, witchcraft, or any other strange and unnatural things. Well, at least I used to. Like when I got that phone call that now I wish I had never gotten. I was on the computer, looking for some new information I might come up with that would make for great memorials, when the phone rang. When I answered, the voice on the other end sounded young, like maybe a twelve- or eleven-year-old boy, saying he was calling from his home on Bedford Bench. He began to talk to me about an old abandoned house across the street from his home that he thought was haunted. Thinking it was some childish crank call, I was going to hang up. But some curiosity in my head told me to listen further. He stated to me that he had stepped inside the small, two-story house and was immediately confronted by a nauseous odor. He compared the smell to that of a dead cow he once saw when helping his rancher neighbors. The boy said that he stepped further within, driven by his own childish curiosity. Then he paused in his statement to me, as if not really wanting to say what had happened next, though fighting to go ahead and say it. After I urged him to continue his tale, he went on to say that he entered a large room, easily large enough to have been a living or family room. Dust had entered his sights, he said, because he rubbed his eyes and saw a ray of moonlight entering a crack from one of the boarded-up windows. And there, caught in the midst of the ray of moonlight, he said he saw a green-black slime that sat in the floor of the room. In amongst the strange stuff, he heard noises. Not the kind that you'd think that you'd hear from a slimy thing. It sounded like an abnormal calling, and he described as sounding like this: "Tekeli-lili!" And behind the thing, he said he could catch a glimpse of a skeleton. A human skeleton at that, and clean, gleaming white! It was then that he ran straight back and out the door. The thing must have not seen him, for it had never followed. And thus ended his rather scary tale. Obviously, being a man of what I thought was sound mind, I simply suggested that it was his excitement and his eyes playing tricks, but he didn't easily dismiss it as I did. More and more, the boy sounded like he truly believed that what he saw in the infernal house was indeed real, and that he would never return there. Poor child. I wish now that my curiosity had ended there. I had him tell me the address of the house so that I may look it up in the library's records in Afton. He reluctantly told me, then we bid our farewells and hung up. I had the address written down before driving to the Star Valley Branch Library in Afton. Unlike the library in Thayne, they had computers and the internet, both a big help. I went through the Star Valley records and newspapers spanning a lot of years. Nothing seemed to mention a house up on Bedford Bench. That is, until I decided to ask my good friend, Sheriff Jonathon Wilkes, if I could look through their older police files. Looking in there, I finally found what I was looking for. It was back in the year 1896. A report of strange noises coming from the house along with queer lights and what would seem to be voices. Some said that these things were unnatural. Of course, folk tended to be rather superstitious back then, I thought. The police looked into it and found only a single widower, living by himself. Said his name was Henry Wicham, a man in his mid-forties who worked a small bit of farmland up on Bedford Bench. When asked the question of his beliefs, he simply replied, "I have none." After that, the police left, dismissing the report as just a way to harass a poor widower. In ten years' time, another report to the police from one Jack Taylor said that "old man Wicham's at it again" with the lights and big, otherworldly voices. The police to the Wicham house right away, the time being around evening when the sun was barely starting to go down behind the mountains, around seven-o'-clock. And it was then that they saw odd shapes silhouetted in the windows, illuminated by lamp-light and firelight from within. They watched carefully, keep their eyes on the shapes. They were tall. There was no distinction from the head and shoulders of whatever these things were. They could distinguish arms, but how many? One wrote a report saying he saw four, another saying he saw twelve, and another writing he saw five. And they made horrible noises, these things. Sounds that, the policemen wrote, delved into their soul as if wishing with intent to tear if free from their bodies. Though, there were words. It was speech of some sort. But they heard another voice. The voice of Wicham. He was screaming. Not just any scream, either. It was a scream of unbound terror! A scream of a man who had been marked to die! It was then that the policemen charged forward, breaking the door down, to find Wicham, laying on the floor, curled in a fetal position. He was babbling. Babbling something like, "Oh God, forgive me. The work is done." The police took him and he was admitted into the Lander Institute for the Mentally Retarded. They diagnosed him with severe paranoid schizophrenia. He wasn't heard of since. As for the things which made the shapes in the windows, they were never found. When the police broke down the door to find Wicham on the floor, the things were gone. They simply said that perhaps the lanterns inside were making the objects within take on strange-looking shadows. And the house? Abandoned. The door was repaired, though, and all of Wicham's belongings removed and placed in an old shed nearby for storage. I started looking for any information on the items taken from the Wicham house. Indeed, the man had weird taste. The things that really caught my eye were three statuettes made of a stone that no geologist at the time had ever seen before, though they carried properties that were found in many, suggesting perhaps a unique conglomeration of minerals. But the shapes in which these conglomerations were made into were most disturbing to those who had handled and examined them before putting them into storage. One report written about a statuette said that it looked like something that came from an insane patient's nightmare. The person described the statuette as being made of a green-black stone. And what it was shaped into was that of humanoid posture, with distinct and dexterous hands and legs to stand upright, though the figure was in a crouched position. Its face was like that of an octopus with tentacles dangling downward from where its mouth may be, arms with clawed and dexterous fingers, and wings like that of a dragon of myth. At its base were the words "Great Cthulhu". The second statuette was made of black stone, and was described as even more terrible than the first; a tall being with three backwards-jointed legs and a long red tendril extending from its head. At this being's base were the words "The Bloody Tongue". The third was never described. All I found out about it was, like the other two, it was discarded in the old shed for storage. These three things intrigued me. I had never heard of such things. Such weird idols. My search led me to the old shed on the files. Much to my dismay, at the time, I found out that it had burned down about a year after Wicham's admittance into the Lander Institute for the Mentally Retarded. I still wanted to know more, even when I kept telling myself that this was just a coincidence to the boy's vivid imagination. So, I went to the site of the shed's burning. Obviously, the grass had grown in the last hundred years, making the grounds oddly more eerie with the wind whispering warnings in a hissing manner as it sent waves through the blades of grass. After an hour of searching among the grasses, I found nothing. This left me somewhat disappointed, though at the same time relieved, as if I truly didn't want to find any atrocities. I went home about evening that first night, my mind feeling riddled with questions. Was the boy really telling the truth? Did the things that he saw really exist? Or is this all just a child's imagination gone wild mixed in with odd coincidences? And what was so significant about those statuettes that made them the only things fully described among Wicham's belongings, other than their morbid appearance? And what was the third? More importantly, why wasn't it described like the other two? I found myself not getting much sleep that night. So many questions, it made my head hurt. Finally, I shut my eyes and found sleep late that night. Though it wasn't particularly restful or peaceful. A dream found my sleep and disrupted it. It was very strange. Nothing seemed to work out. As if geometry in our understanding was completely ignored. As if our three-dimensional thinking and living was truly of little significance to the bigger picture. There were buildings. Huge buildings, bigger than any of our towers. But the shapes used to make them, they made no sense to me. None were the rectangular design we use. There were triangles among trapezohedrons, dodecagons amongst squares. Just looking upon those structures made my head spin. Then came the calling. It sounded sweet to my ears, but harsh to my brain all at once. It sounded so terrible, I dare not tell you for you to write it down for fear that you or anyone who reads this may hear it, too. But it was calling me, as if wanting me to follow and get to its source. But before I could follow, I was awakened by my alarm clock. I was panting hard and had a cold sweat on my brow and I felt as if I had no sleep at all, though I slept for a full eight hours. And my head's aching never left me. It stayed there all through breakfast, too. I went back to my office shortly thereafter, my mind still working over whatever my dream was. What was strange was the fact that those images from my dream never went away. I played music, I watched some show off the internet, but nothing could get the image of those buildings out. Then it occurred to me. Why not prove, once and for all, that all this was simply an overactive imagination and weird coincidence? I had to go to the house myself. See once and for all that this was all a child's naivety and naught but dust in the wind. I made plans to visit the place. Then I prepared myself for what may be fiction, or horrifying fact. God, I wish it was the former. The house itself wasn't as creepy as I had first imagined it, even in the light of the moon above. But even in the mundane appearance, there was something about it. As if some presence either within or outside were generating a dark, almost blasphemous feeling all around it. A chill ran down my spine as I found myself staring at this house. Nothing could move my sight from it. I never found the courage to move my gaze elsewhere for a whole minute, though it felt like an eternity. But finally, my eyes came back to focus on that house that, though so ordinary, felt so damned hideous. It was then that I ventured to the door, wondering then why I was so foolish as to choose to come during the night hours. My hand touched the cold, rusted doorknob, turning it slowly before pushing the door inward. The creak of the hinges made me wince, though I kept telling myself that there was nothing inside with me. I left the door open and grabbed my flashlight from my pocket. The dust was disturbed from the wooden floor of the entryway, making the light from the flashlight look like a coned beam across the entry's hall. My nose felt rather agitated by all the dust, urging a sneeze from me. When I did sneeze, I heard a heavy slam behind me. I didn't want to look, but I turned around and saw that the damned door was shut behind me! And locked! I called out to whoever was playing games with me from outside, slamming an angry, frightened fist on the old wooden door until I felt the stab and sharp pain of a splinter enter my hand. Jerking my hand away in pain, I didn't hear any reply. Not even a childish giggle that I would have suspected. It was then that I slowly began to realize that it was all a mistake coming here. Now I was alone. Not even God was gazing upon me, if felt. I found myself shaking uncontrollably, even as I took step after cautious step forward, into the hall. I could see a room ahead. No, two rooms. One on my right and one on my left. I decided to take the left first. Stepping in this room, I found it to be the dining room. It would seem that those who had taken Wicham's belongings didn't take the furniture. The dining table was still there, and so were the chairs. Odd. A widower, yet there were seven chairs around the table. And the table itself was a mystery. It had three supporting legs and the shape of it. It was the shape that resembled, as close as I can describe it, a combination of a dodecagon and a circle. There was no way such a design could work! Closer inspection of the woodworks on the chairs and table revealed very weird carvings of what I would have guessed to be hieroglyphics. But they weren't of any sort that I have seen in all my years as a historian. I can hardly describe them, and probably for the better. Something just wasn't right. Nothing seemed right. Then I turned around and the beam of light from my flashlight shown upon…oh dear God…the idols! Two of them! The Great Cthulhu and the Bloody Tongue! Dear God, my knees began to quiver. My flashlight fell to the floor as I covered my mouth to stifle a scream that was fixing to run up my throat. This was wrong! It was all wrong! The table and chairs, perfectly preserved even though the house was abandoned for a hundred years, and these hideous idols! They were supposed to be burned with the shed! How? How? I stared into darkness in the direction of the statuettes for only a second before I began to feel sick to my stomach. I vomited onto the floor and then shakingly searched for the flashlight, which must have been shaken rather badly because the light turned off when it fell from my hand. I found myself mumbling uncontrollably, trying to find some way of rationalization as I ran my fingers over the floor, over my own bile, everywhere in search for the flashlight. Without it, the only light about was that of the moon who so mockingly looked down on the scene below her of a man who was on hands and knees, searching for light in the pitch blackness. My fingers finally found the cylindrical handle of my flashlight and I turned it on. My fumbling for it had led me to the room on the other end of the hall. And there, smiling malignly at me, was a bleach-white skeleton of a human, its empty eye sockets glancing upon me. It was then that the voice came, the source sounding like it was from the skeleton itself. "'Behold, the temple of my divine works, ye of little faith, and tremble', sayeth the Great Cthulhu. Unfold your mind and you may enter his kingdom, Edward. Look upon me and know that I have cheated death. Look upon me now, and know that I've marked you to die! I'a, I'a! I'a Cthulhu Fthagn!" INTERVIEWER'S NOTES: Mister Edward Johnson never finished his interview here at the Wyoming Psychiatric Hospital. We paused here for the day, to finish when we return the next day. When we returned the next day to delve into what gave him his severe delusional schizophrenia, we were horrified to hear that he had gone into a mad fit the night after we left. He started hitting his head against the concrete wall of his room, they said. None of them reached him in time before he had literally crushed his own skull. Family was notified. Funeral well be held next week. His interview will remain here until family or friends wish to take it. Until then, it will remain locked inside one of our file cabinets. At least his mind is finally at peace and his body to rest.